Alright! Then I'll be posting the next round tomorrow, with a timeskip to the time of the duel.
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Most Recent Posts
Chunji's Ethos would still function well, as it'd seem enough time has passed since he used it last to where his brain has caught up from when his vision was used during attunement. He would be able to see a change in the flow of the leyline just under the ground near where the burn mark is, where it almost seems like a miniature leyline fountain has started to converge, swirling about. Though with each passing second, it's seeming to unravel, as if it were a tied knot coming undone, slowly back to its original self. There would also be a lingering mote of essence near the wall of the alley.
As for people, there would be people walking about the academy city outside the alleyway, down the main street, but nobody that would necessarily stand out to Chunji - certainly nobody that stands out immediately as suspicious.
As for people, there would be people walking about the academy city outside the alleyway, down the main street, but nobody that would necessarily stand out to Chunji - certainly nobody that stands out immediately as suspicious.
@AThousandCurses
There wouldn’t be any fountains nearby, no. The lines themselves stretch all across campus, but there wouldn’t be anything centralized in this alleyway.
The burn mark would be lukewarm.
There wouldn’t be any fountains nearby, no. The lines themselves stretch all across campus, but there wouldn’t be anything centralized in this alleyway.
The burn mark would be lukewarm.
@AThousandCurses
The receptionist, with a furrowed bro, took to the clinic's terminal and furiously tapped away at it, shaking his head. "I've been the one on shift all day, and I recall no such interaction with Davil Wund, nor was he noted as having been discharged. Were he truly to have left, I have no memory of it," he would state, looking towards Chunji with harrowed eyes as he left.
As the projection of Davil was followed, the phantom darted down a nearby alleyway, seeming to pick up speed with each step. He appeared to sprint towards a dead end at the back of the alley, before seeming to tackle and pin someone against the wall - someone no longer present, and who would not appear in the projection. Davil would seem to throw a punch in frustration, then look down as if having floored the person struck.
Davil's projection would then turn around, staring dead ahead at something, before unclenching his fists. All at once, the phantom would begin to dematerialize, breaking apart like cracked glass, before vanishing entirely from Chunji's view. From where Davil's phantom stood, there would be a small crack in the stone and the faintest trace of burn marks. Apart from that, the alleyway appeared empty.
@ERode
Scuzzy dashed back and forth to assemble the various materials requested. Typically, a high-end fabric store of the Union - or really any store that wished to stay afloat within its borders - would employ familiars or conjured creations to see to the labor and customer service side of things. It was unusual for modern consumer culture, but Scuzzy's style of tending to each order by himself certainly harkened to a more traditional age. It would be more common to find this approach in Mirris or an old-fashioned family shop in Seer's Loft, but the hustle and bustle of Union culture often marked such an approach to business as a death sentence. Yet here, in this humble academy city, a traditionalist like Scuzzy could even thrive amidst quieter days.
Wiping sweat off his brow, the goblin waddled back to the register with all the requested materials bound and packaged, including the strip of Z5. "Should aaaaall be there, gold thread included," he'd mutter, catching his breath, thankful that the huffing and puffing of spiced lamb and potato breath was masked by the menagerie of perfumes within these walls.
"That'll come to... 10 gold, after the half-off discount. Hefty price still, I realize, but the Z5 really contributed there. Hope you're still good for it, champ. And, uh..."
Looking at Chloe's damaged dress once more, he'd tap at it for effect. "Lemme know if you find out what the deal with this thing is. Why its weaver decided to disgrace it so. Absolutely baffling," he'd scoff, folding his arms as if in defiance of the very thought of its making.
@Estylwen
Ciara would hear an exhale from behind her as she walked away - perhaps relief, or simply frustration, if not both. As she approached the checkout desk, Michael's goofy smirk with a half-cracked volume of 'The Shoguknights' seemed to show his blissful ignorance of the situation, feet once more kicked up on the desk as he stared up at her. With a nod, he scanned his eyes over the book she held, once more returning to a more normal sitting position as he tossed aside his comic.
"That all for today? Satisfied with the selection, from whatever ya ended up pickin' out?" He grabbed the book and turned it towards the checkout desk's Adapa, a blue light scanning over its surface as he sat there. "Nowadays, lots of people prefer the comforts that essence-based reading can bring. 'Course, not even the capital's selection is complete, and I'm always a sucker for physical books any day."
The cloaked janitor would hand Ciara's book back to her after the scan was complete and registered, alongside a ping from her own Adapa. "You'll be gettin' a notification that this thing's due back on the 24th of the month, and its condition's been recorded in case of tampering or damage. Not that anyone thinks students'll get up to any funny business, but if it's altered in any way from when it was taken out, down to the most insignificant mote of essence manipulated, the system'll know."
Once more sliding the Shoguknights comic into his hands and kicking his feet up on the desk, he gave Ciara a cheery smile and a nod, tipping his hood towards her. "Best of luck with it, though! This school's here to raise some ass-kickers, so best get to kickin' ass. The ones like you takin' the initiative outside of class are gonna be the ones that make it, I say. Magic ain't mandatory, of course, but it can't hurt to know a little about a lot."
@Psyker Landshark
A faint wind blew through the chapel, uncharacteristically warm for the time of year, and almost began to hover near Iraleth and the altar. It was unclear whether it was a simple gust of wind, essence manipulation or the presence of something divine itself, but a feeling of oneness would nevertheless take over the building. Astra's calling was that of justice for the weak following the end of the apocalypse, and were this to be interpreted as a sign from Astra itself, was Ciara the 'weak' in question, or the one whom justice must be delivered upon? Iraleth was not one of the Antecedes, those Astra-devout archers so infamously respected and despised for their merciless shots that struck true with the winds of the shadowslayer, those who saw the world in brackets of Astra's pure love and deepest hate for others that once more threatened its safety. Though a paladin obligated to defend the weak and strike down evil, her duty thankfully never veered so deep as to force her along the path of an Antecede.
Perhaps that faint wind that now left through the other end of the chapel served as a brief reminder in these moments of thought; that unlike others along Astra's path such as those zealous archers, she still possessed a choice as to how much blood stained her hands. Apart from the wind's fickle calling, she was truly alone in this decision as she prayed and made her preparations.
WINGRAM CLINIC
The receptionist, with a furrowed bro, took to the clinic's terminal and furiously tapped away at it, shaking his head. "I've been the one on shift all day, and I recall no such interaction with Davil Wund, nor was he noted as having been discharged. Were he truly to have left, I have no memory of it," he would state, looking towards Chunji with harrowed eyes as he left.
As the projection of Davil was followed, the phantom darted down a nearby alleyway, seeming to pick up speed with each step. He appeared to sprint towards a dead end at the back of the alley, before seeming to tackle and pin someone against the wall - someone no longer present, and who would not appear in the projection. Davil would seem to throw a punch in frustration, then look down as if having floored the person struck.
Davil's projection would then turn around, staring dead ahead at something, before unclenching his fists. All at once, the phantom would begin to dematerialize, breaking apart like cracked glass, before vanishing entirely from Chunji's view. From where Davil's phantom stood, there would be a small crack in the stone and the faintest trace of burn marks. Apart from that, the alleyway appeared empty.
@ERode
CLOTHIER DE HRUNTING
Scuzzy dashed back and forth to assemble the various materials requested. Typically, a high-end fabric store of the Union - or really any store that wished to stay afloat within its borders - would employ familiars or conjured creations to see to the labor and customer service side of things. It was unusual for modern consumer culture, but Scuzzy's style of tending to each order by himself certainly harkened to a more traditional age. It would be more common to find this approach in Mirris or an old-fashioned family shop in Seer's Loft, but the hustle and bustle of Union culture often marked such an approach to business as a death sentence. Yet here, in this humble academy city, a traditionalist like Scuzzy could even thrive amidst quieter days.
Wiping sweat off his brow, the goblin waddled back to the register with all the requested materials bound and packaged, including the strip of Z5. "Should aaaaall be there, gold thread included," he'd mutter, catching his breath, thankful that the huffing and puffing of spiced lamb and potato breath was masked by the menagerie of perfumes within these walls.
"That'll come to... 10 gold, after the half-off discount. Hefty price still, I realize, but the Z5 really contributed there. Hope you're still good for it, champ. And, uh..."
Looking at Chloe's damaged dress once more, he'd tap at it for effect. "Lemme know if you find out what the deal with this thing is. Why its weaver decided to disgrace it so. Absolutely baffling," he'd scoff, folding his arms as if in defiance of the very thought of its making.
@Estylwen
WINGRAM LIBRARY
Ciara would hear an exhale from behind her as she walked away - perhaps relief, or simply frustration, if not both. As she approached the checkout desk, Michael's goofy smirk with a half-cracked volume of 'The Shoguknights' seemed to show his blissful ignorance of the situation, feet once more kicked up on the desk as he stared up at her. With a nod, he scanned his eyes over the book she held, once more returning to a more normal sitting position as he tossed aside his comic.
"That all for today? Satisfied with the selection, from whatever ya ended up pickin' out?" He grabbed the book and turned it towards the checkout desk's Adapa, a blue light scanning over its surface as he sat there. "Nowadays, lots of people prefer the comforts that essence-based reading can bring. 'Course, not even the capital's selection is complete, and I'm always a sucker for physical books any day."
The cloaked janitor would hand Ciara's book back to her after the scan was complete and registered, alongside a ping from her own Adapa. "You'll be gettin' a notification that this thing's due back on the 24th of the month, and its condition's been recorded in case of tampering or damage. Not that anyone thinks students'll get up to any funny business, but if it's altered in any way from when it was taken out, down to the most insignificant mote of essence manipulated, the system'll know."
Once more sliding the Shoguknights comic into his hands and kicking his feet up on the desk, he gave Ciara a cheery smile and a nod, tipping his hood towards her. "Best of luck with it, though! This school's here to raise some ass-kickers, so best get to kickin' ass. The ones like you takin' the initiative outside of class are gonna be the ones that make it, I say. Magic ain't mandatory, of course, but it can't hurt to know a little about a lot."
@Psyker Landshark
WINGRAM CHAPEL OF ASTRA
A faint wind blew through the chapel, uncharacteristically warm for the time of year, and almost began to hover near Iraleth and the altar. It was unclear whether it was a simple gust of wind, essence manipulation or the presence of something divine itself, but a feeling of oneness would nevertheless take over the building. Astra's calling was that of justice for the weak following the end of the apocalypse, and were this to be interpreted as a sign from Astra itself, was Ciara the 'weak' in question, or the one whom justice must be delivered upon? Iraleth was not one of the Antecedes, those Astra-devout archers so infamously respected and despised for their merciless shots that struck true with the winds of the shadowslayer, those who saw the world in brackets of Astra's pure love and deepest hate for others that once more threatened its safety. Though a paladin obligated to defend the weak and strike down evil, her duty thankfully never veered so deep as to force her along the path of an Antecede.
Perhaps that faint wind that now left through the other end of the chapel served as a brief reminder in these moments of thought; that unlike others along Astra's path such as those zealous archers, she still possessed a choice as to how much blood stained her hands. Apart from the wind's fickle calling, she was truly alone in this decision as she prayed and made her preparations.
Gotcha! I ended up feeling pretty sick today, so I haven't been able to do much, but I'll get around to the next round tomorrow!
I've been busy today, but if there's nothing when I wake up tomorrow, the next round will be on the way!
@AThousandCurses
The apparition would appear at first to be laying on the bed, resting. Suddenly, Davil's eyes would shoot open, and he would call upon his Adapa, quickly skimming over something before shutting it. He'd slowly sit up in bed, then kick his feet to the bedside before stumbling to a standing position, flimsy and with a face contorted in pain the whole time. He'd lose his footing for a moment while gripping his head, and reflexively grab onto the nearby desk. Breathing heavy, he'd dig into his pants' pockets and withdraw three vials containing liquids of different colors - one red, one grey and one that appeared to alternate several different colors gradually. He'd desperately down the red one first, dropping it against the desk as droplets pooled out of it.
A sigh of relief escaped his lips as he did so, his posture straightening as he uncorked the remaining two vials and downed them both at the same time, dropping them haphazardly on the desk once they were empty. He would then run towards the room's exit and down the hall, as if in desperation, and stopped by the receptionist desk to communicate something briefly. Afterwards, Davil would nod his head and sprint out of the clinic entirely.
The receptionist would be watching this apparition of Davil, and then look to Chunji, confused, exclaiming, "What's going on? What's with that phantom? Mr. Wund is missing?"
@ERode
Scuzzy would point to one of the display dresses back behind the counter, waddling over nearer to it. "Can't say I'm an expert in replacement on this scale of quality, but the materials of this wedding gown of the old queen of the Primelands may prove sufficient."
He would gesture towards it in its display case, eerily similar in many ways aesthetically to Chloe's own dress, albeit with many more dazzling streaks of gold in more intricate patterns, when it came to the wedding gown. Even though it was a replica, it still commanded an aura of authority on sight, clear in its intent to put all eyes on the wearer. Scuzzy would turn back to Otis while still holding out a hand towards the display case, and shrug. "The original was also said to have been made with vouivre leather, so maybe that's just a coinky-dink? Maybe the craftsman of that piece was just so enamored with the queen's legacy that they had to try their hand at it."
Waddling to the fabrics section and back, the goblin would drape various different sample strips along the counter. "Silk is the most mundane replacement, of course. We also have some wolfwool, already dyed black in... reasonably the same shade, and it'll prove more durable against the elements, if this girl plans on wearing their dress on adventures. And last..."
A finger pointed towards the last sample strip, which was slate grey and almost appeared entirely without texture.
"A new, experimental synthetic, courtesy of alchemists at Highguard Industries in the capital - Material Z5. Adaptive essence tuning, they call it - fibers with the know-how to adapt to whatever it's in contact with for prolonged periods, mainly used for repairing clothes. It's imperfect, but I've heard no end to the praises sung from the Shaktan bigwigs that can afford it in bulk."
He'd run a finger along the Z5 strip, shuddering. "Even so, it just looks wrong, Otis. Maybe it's just the days of tech outpacing me, but I don't like it one damn bit."
@Estylwen
Gulliver's eyes narrowed as he stared into his potential assassin, his expression darkening. Not even a muscle was moved, and he kept as still as could be, making sure not to further stoke the flames of rage between them with sudden movements. There wasn't even sadistic joy in his eyes at this point, simply looking at her as she spoke and threatened. "What in the name of all holies do you believe yourself to be doing? Do you think this will accomplish a single thing?"
His pupils were near vacant, colors dull as his vision slowly slid from Ciara to her weapon, and over towards the checkout desk hidden partially by bookshelves from this angle. "Killing me would certainly be efficient, at least. You would delay things, or at worst, piss off some execs," he would trail off, his voice taking on a different, more casual mannerism partway through. "Maybe that really is the play here. You kill me, and someone somewhere gets real mad for a little while; that's probably worth it."
Looking back at her, the Bronsteel heir's face was a mix of casual acceptance and genuine enthusiasm, even gently nudging his neck towards her blade a little more. "If you really do believe in this 'two of me' thing, maybe the world only needs one, eh?"
He would press a bit further, allowing the blade to ever so slightly nick him, a single droplet of blood spilling onto his book below. By this point, the formal dialect of Gulliver Bronsteel had been replaced by an eerily similar - yet apparent and imperfect - mimicry.
@Psyker Landshark
"Hey, ouch. The High Bishop's a big man, I'm sure he can appreciate a slip-up here or there. And, granted, this one was bigger than a little oopsie, but... Astra's winds find forgiveness in those that deserve it, after all, so I suppose it's up to our great goddess to decide," Alto would exclaim with a measure of humility, dreading the notion of being known as a screw-up even from so early on.
The professor would stride forward and place his index finger atop the altar, slowly running it along to brush away a thin layer of dust. A sad smile pulled at his lips that he only somewhat held back, tracing his finger along the wooden altar and allowing his eyes to follow the aimless patterns. "Umbralists destroyed a lot for a lot of people, Kyrios - that doesn't mean we have the right to execute them one and all under our own judgment."
Alto shot the paladin a look as if to gauge her, and then continued, saying, "I was in the wrong for how I handled that class, but so too would you be for going into an on-campus duel with even the slightest idea of murder in your mind. Umbralism took something from me that I'll never get back, and yet..."
His palm fell once more to rest on the pommel of his sword, glancing at it longingly for a moment, and then back at the altar. "Yet that's not on her, she wasn't even born when things went wrong. We don't know yet if she's an Umbralist, but even if she were, would that make it okay? The world and its people haven't healed, but that gives no excuse to just kill off the ones we don't like."
Walking past her, the Wund swordsman would briefly pat Iraleth's shoulder reassuringly, before continuing to move towards the chapel's exit. "I'm on your side in this matter, Kyrios," he would state as he leaned against the doorway, looking back at her one last time with a frown. "Just don't take it so far that you'll regret the outcome later."
With that, Alto would step out of the chapel and back onto the campus.
WINGRAM CLINIC
The apparition would appear at first to be laying on the bed, resting. Suddenly, Davil's eyes would shoot open, and he would call upon his Adapa, quickly skimming over something before shutting it. He'd slowly sit up in bed, then kick his feet to the bedside before stumbling to a standing position, flimsy and with a face contorted in pain the whole time. He'd lose his footing for a moment while gripping his head, and reflexively grab onto the nearby desk. Breathing heavy, he'd dig into his pants' pockets and withdraw three vials containing liquids of different colors - one red, one grey and one that appeared to alternate several different colors gradually. He'd desperately down the red one first, dropping it against the desk as droplets pooled out of it.
A sigh of relief escaped his lips as he did so, his posture straightening as he uncorked the remaining two vials and downed them both at the same time, dropping them haphazardly on the desk once they were empty. He would then run towards the room's exit and down the hall, as if in desperation, and stopped by the receptionist desk to communicate something briefly. Afterwards, Davil would nod his head and sprint out of the clinic entirely.
The receptionist would be watching this apparition of Davil, and then look to Chunji, confused, exclaiming, "What's going on? What's with that phantom? Mr. Wund is missing?"
@ERode
CLOTHIER DE HRUNTING
Scuzzy would point to one of the display dresses back behind the counter, waddling over nearer to it. "Can't say I'm an expert in replacement on this scale of quality, but the materials of this wedding gown of the old queen of the Primelands may prove sufficient."
He would gesture towards it in its display case, eerily similar in many ways aesthetically to Chloe's own dress, albeit with many more dazzling streaks of gold in more intricate patterns, when it came to the wedding gown. Even though it was a replica, it still commanded an aura of authority on sight, clear in its intent to put all eyes on the wearer. Scuzzy would turn back to Otis while still holding out a hand towards the display case, and shrug. "The original was also said to have been made with vouivre leather, so maybe that's just a coinky-dink? Maybe the craftsman of that piece was just so enamored with the queen's legacy that they had to try their hand at it."
Waddling to the fabrics section and back, the goblin would drape various different sample strips along the counter. "Silk is the most mundane replacement, of course. We also have some wolfwool, already dyed black in... reasonably the same shade, and it'll prove more durable against the elements, if this girl plans on wearing their dress on adventures. And last..."
A finger pointed towards the last sample strip, which was slate grey and almost appeared entirely without texture.
"A new, experimental synthetic, courtesy of alchemists at Highguard Industries in the capital - Material Z5. Adaptive essence tuning, they call it - fibers with the know-how to adapt to whatever it's in contact with for prolonged periods, mainly used for repairing clothes. It's imperfect, but I've heard no end to the praises sung from the Shaktan bigwigs that can afford it in bulk."
He'd run a finger along the Z5 strip, shuddering. "Even so, it just looks wrong, Otis. Maybe it's just the days of tech outpacing me, but I don't like it one damn bit."
@Estylwen
WINGRAM LIBRARY
Gulliver's eyes narrowed as he stared into his potential assassin, his expression darkening. Not even a muscle was moved, and he kept as still as could be, making sure not to further stoke the flames of rage between them with sudden movements. There wasn't even sadistic joy in his eyes at this point, simply looking at her as she spoke and threatened. "What in the name of all holies do you believe yourself to be doing? Do you think this will accomplish a single thing?"
His pupils were near vacant, colors dull as his vision slowly slid from Ciara to her weapon, and over towards the checkout desk hidden partially by bookshelves from this angle. "Killing me would certainly be efficient, at least. You would delay things, or at worst, piss off some execs," he would trail off, his voice taking on a different, more casual mannerism partway through. "Maybe that really is the play here. You kill me, and someone somewhere gets real mad for a little while; that's probably worth it."
Looking back at her, the Bronsteel heir's face was a mix of casual acceptance and genuine enthusiasm, even gently nudging his neck towards her blade a little more. "If you really do believe in this 'two of me' thing, maybe the world only needs one, eh?"
He would press a bit further, allowing the blade to ever so slightly nick him, a single droplet of blood spilling onto his book below. By this point, the formal dialect of Gulliver Bronsteel had been replaced by an eerily similar - yet apparent and imperfect - mimicry.
@Psyker Landshark
WINGRAM CHAPEL OF ASTRA
"Hey, ouch. The High Bishop's a big man, I'm sure he can appreciate a slip-up here or there. And, granted, this one was bigger than a little oopsie, but... Astra's winds find forgiveness in those that deserve it, after all, so I suppose it's up to our great goddess to decide," Alto would exclaim with a measure of humility, dreading the notion of being known as a screw-up even from so early on.
The professor would stride forward and place his index finger atop the altar, slowly running it along to brush away a thin layer of dust. A sad smile pulled at his lips that he only somewhat held back, tracing his finger along the wooden altar and allowing his eyes to follow the aimless patterns. "Umbralists destroyed a lot for a lot of people, Kyrios - that doesn't mean we have the right to execute them one and all under our own judgment."
Alto shot the paladin a look as if to gauge her, and then continued, saying, "I was in the wrong for how I handled that class, but so too would you be for going into an on-campus duel with even the slightest idea of murder in your mind. Umbralism took something from me that I'll never get back, and yet..."
His palm fell once more to rest on the pommel of his sword, glancing at it longingly for a moment, and then back at the altar. "Yet that's not on her, she wasn't even born when things went wrong. We don't know yet if she's an Umbralist, but even if she were, would that make it okay? The world and its people haven't healed, but that gives no excuse to just kill off the ones we don't like."
Walking past her, the Wund swordsman would briefly pat Iraleth's shoulder reassuringly, before continuing to move towards the chapel's exit. "I'm on your side in this matter, Kyrios," he would state as he leaned against the doorway, looking back at her one last time with a frown. "Just don't take it so far that you'll regret the outcome later."
With that, Alto would step out of the chapel and back onto the campus.
Next round later tonight!
Oh, I totally missed that, sorry. Nah, we can do Hildegunde things too, you're fine to post for that @Sifr
@AThousandCurses
The red color and syrupy consistency of the one that still has some left would indicate it was most likely a healing potion. They’re all unlabeled, though - which would be odd, as over the counter potions are labeled accordingly - so that would be the most he’d have to go on at first glance.
The red color and syrupy consistency of the one that still has some left would indicate it was most likely a healing potion. They’re all unlabeled, though - which would be odd, as over the counter potions are labeled accordingly - so that would be the most he’d have to go on at first glance.
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