• Solo • Consequences

27th of Ashan 723

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The massive walled city where the majority of the Yari live. Spread over a large area and containing a diverse people.

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Max
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Re: Consequences

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Things had really slipped through the cracks now.

The threat of a flood was on the horizon.

Maxine could feel herself gaining her edge. Each hacking swing of her sword, violent and swift, was as industrious as a blade clearing thick brush. Eventually, she would overpower the undergrowth to reveal the bright clearing that was her victory. Burn the bridges and the boats, she would have this podium of righteous over him. Just this once.

Then the magic happened.

Her pommel hit some sort of shield instead of skull, and she was sent backwards with a furrowed brow. Her feet scrambled to maintain her balance before she lost it. Her back foot planted. She willed her irritated blade arm to raise her guard.

And then she was hit with something she’d never experienced before.

It was sudden and unforgiving, whatever this burst was Kasoria had summoned despite the range she thought she still had to recover before the next attack. Air left her lungs around the same time her feet left the ground. By the time she had any inkling of the misfortune that just struck her, she hit the hard wall behind her fiercely.

The wince from the crowd at the sound was enough to tell her how bad it looked. It felt much worse, she’d assure them if she remembered they were even there. Pain exploded in her mind. Her rib, she knew, was broken or cracked. Probably more than one. She sucked air where she came to a brutal halt on the ground, and more agony confirmed her suspicions with every breath.

Get. Up.

Instinct was a powerful thing. The survival mindset of someone who was preyed upon and fought their whole life was deeply internalized. She planted a hand on the ground and started to push herself up, gladius shaking as she winced but she started to rise anyways. Even over the wind she could make out his biting reminder. She grit her teeth and tasted iron on her tongue.

I haven’t forgotten, you selfish bastard. I was just wondering when it would show up…

A wheeze came out instead of spiteful words.

Maxine raised her chin to eye the Old Man. He was now what she’d only seen in her dreams before they had found each other again in flesh. Inhuman, devoured by magic, and pulsing with a power that came only with the acceptance of the symbiotic parasite that was the Spark. He had three. The image of himself he presented was that of something she despised more than just about anything else in this world.

The Wind Armor bracelet on her arm came to life, adding an additional shield to give her a minor boon of protection against his next arcane assault. Her chest uncomfortably heaved a couple times while she started to ride the wall up to a stand. As she thought, the fingers of her free hand curled into a tight, knowing fist. It shook but not with exhaustion. She was wounded but that look in her eyes was no less wild.

Maxine stared at the seemingly omnipotent being before her and the hesitation in her mind vanished. She toggled her Stun Gloves on and accepted the price that came with that.

Kasoria was still talking, gibbering some false prophecy of her leadership when she lunged forward with a super-man punch that cut him off with the strike to his chin. Through her grit teeth, her wide eyes could see the moment of surprise and anxiety briefly on his face. It was not a juvenile strike, even at a serpent speed, that had his full attention now. It was the instant, violent severing of his connection to all three of his sparks.

The Band and those of the Delegation that hadn’t run from her ongoing windstorm stared with mouths agape. All that power, all that showing bare of ability and usurping of divine-like presence fit for a god, vanished like the severing of a head from the body beneath a guillotine. Sparks so loud with life and chatter went cold and silent, giving no answer to Kasoria’s calls within himself. It was a very temporary state of arcane impotency that would not last but not one he would soon forget.

Max immediately followed her overhand punch with a pommel to his nose. For this very brief burst of momentum she had him on his heels, his body and mind searching for equilibrium where it was stolen while she stirred herself to violence of action. She placed herself ahead of him on the curve but it was not one meant to last. By now he would feel his Sparks awakening to his word again. Power beyond his mortal talents had returned. She felt the danger. She reacted.

Triplet Twisters the size of a man ripped forward from three different directions outside the warring pair like the windstorm itself had borne them. They moved rapidly, looking to hurl the mage every time one of them found him like a cluster of debris caught in their turbines, swallowing and spitting him out for they cared not what power he boasted.

And then with a yell above her localized storm, Maxine hunted him again with her blade.


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Kasoria
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You were never too old to be surprised. Kasoria knew that, but he also knew, if you expected that moment, it wouldn't be much of a surprise. So he'd expected the magic her Mark could afford her (which was what it was, no matter how she quibbled about the wording), her own skill with blades and fists... but he'd almost forgotten about what she'd taken down Merry with. Long ago and an ocean or two away.

He saw her surge up at him. No, not surge... spring. All lithe and precise, nothing to a blur in the space of a heartbeat. Battered and bloody and with mushed insides, still she fought so hard. But still, he was The Old Man. He saw her lunge, her strike, before her feet had even pushing down into the cobbles. And as the fist came for him he pulsed a Shield into the air around him with a bored pulse of a thought, frowning minutely at the glow around-

Fuck.

CRUNCH

Gone.

The shattering Shield slowed he punch, but not enough to save his nose. The instant it shattered, instinct overrode everything else and he tucked his head. Blow that should have broke her jaw instead mashing nis nose and he staggered and his Sparks-

Silent. Kasoria gasped. Took a shuddering breath and heaved it out in shocked, stuttering hiccups. Beyond them, unseen and uncared for, The Band gaped. Not just at the crack of energy that ripped around the courtyard, as all that etheric power filling it was suddenly dispelled in a half-trill. The sheer amount of it meant reality reasserting itself was like water flooding back into an underground lake, noisy and awkward and obvious even to a mute. Only a couple of them had ever seen magic dispelled so easily, so quickly, so completey, and marveled at the power behind such skill.

Raand and Miki, though? They saw their leader's face, and their jaws slowly lowered.

Kasoria was... no... yes... for that one moment that he could not hide... he didn't know what do do.

Where are you? Wh-Where did you-


The trio of voices were gone. Their wordless moods, chittering emotions, rippling up and down his bones and in his blood... his comrades and companions for arcs... so common and understood as part of his world that he barely noticed them anymore. Their purring un-sentience in his mind was just... normal. In one blow she had taken them from him, severed him from their touch and voice, and he had nothing to fall back on but-

Oh. Right. Everything else.

Shock gave way to desperation and that lasted for about as long as it took for Kasoria to backpedal away from that swinging pommel like a drunk staggering from a burning torch. There was an audible murmur from the crowd as this implacable, unstoppable engine was suddenly turned on his heel and running from Maxine. She wasn't lettign up, either, but he wouldn't allow her any more surprises. Iron will clamped down on his shock, embraced the sudden silence, and made use of it. His magic was gone; his Sparks were disabled. But his mutations... were still there.

Not gone. Dormant. They'll come back. Until then-

His addled stagger became a backward roll, and he came back up on his feet in a combat stance. Gladius held high as he crouched low, ready for her attack to-

They came back. They roared into his ear as if plummeting from a great height and splashing in the bucket of his head. For an instant he winced, then he felt the ether ripple over him again-

He made a note of exactly how long those gloves had robbed him of his powers. Might be useful in the future.

Maxine was far from done. With a feral roar she threw out her arms and the Wind became her puppet yet again. The crowd backed up flat on the walls, even The Band paling slightly as tornados, cyclones, twisters, stunted and midget but still powerful enough to hurl even Miki around were born about her. She pointed as if commanding that fucking lizard-hound of hers and they drove towards him, hair already ripping about his face and-

Raand swallowed hard. This was the moment he'd been afraid of.

For a moment, Sparks and mage were in complete accord. Odd to say, but Sparks are... flighty things. They match their owner, but only in the same way orbiting worlds and moons can match. Always apart, never touching. The occasional eclipse is the closest they get, and that symmetry is almost as uncommon as that among celestial bodies. But in their return, in that moment, all three of his Spars roared. They matched in their primal, animal indignation the cold anger simmering in their host.

They were offended. Outraged. Muted no longer and eager to punish the one who would dare.

Glad you agree.

And they obeyed without question.

Kasoria dropped down to one knee and slammed his hands into the courtyard. At once ether pulled and rippled through the stones, under them, outward until they lapped against the walls. With a thought and a grunt he pulled, grew, forced, transmuted two walls on his flanks, raising and thinning them but they were thick enough for the moment. Two of the tornadoes crashed against them, eating greedily but he did not need forever, and as they consumed, so were they weakened-

-Kasoria then jerking out his arms to the sides and slamming the walls towards, into the cyclones, letting them get torn apart and eaten, but in their gorging, their glutting, their bloating of their forms with stone and cobbles, the tornadoes became sluggish, slowing-


-third one barreling his way and Kasoria jumped-

-and jumped, and jumped-

-ether-charged legs sending him bounding, flying over the cyclone by a good six feet,
feeling a tug at his toes from the winds, but nothing else. Such a force was designed to ensnare and suck in everything in front of it. Something flying above was... not expected. Kasoria landed heavy but not insensible, a good ten feet away, and before he'd even finished standing he turned and threw out a hand-

Fire with fire. He'd heard that before, and never understood it. But air with air? See, as long as that was directed, he'd give that a shot. Like blasting the last tornado with Expel, strong enough not to toss a man but demolish a wooden hut, blowing it clear across the courtyard and away from him, just as he turned his attention to Maxine-

-catching her gladius as he searched for him again, bare inches before it could cut through his shoulder and into his chest. The cunt really was going for it this time. All the sickness and venom of the arcs bubbling and frothing to the surface. He glared down at her with his jagged teeth and black eyes and hair like a fetid curtain across his face, effort of deploying so much magic at once paling him visibly. But his eyes burned, they flared like solar holes the scholars spoke of, that ate stars and worlds and were portals to places demons dared not dwell. Never, not even in that dreamwalk from arcs ago, had she seen hatred in his eyes like this, the rage of injured pride and animal fury.

What are you doing, old man?

He was right in this. She had pushed him. She had made this personal-

Ah. There we go.

Again.


Fire with fire. Rage with rage. Hate with hate. It solved nothing. It ended nothing. Not without either complete victory, or total defeat. He was in that fucking tunnel again, unleashing all his power to squash that bug-eyed cunt... but he'd failed. Wounded his quarry, tore apart some worthless thralls, and the cost? He'd marred his city's reputation in Yaralon. He'd bought a bounty on all their heads, for all he knew. The Low Emperor would have him, as long as he lived within the walls. Eventually, someone would collect, even if it was just endless duels until he was too exhausted to lift his blade.

Because he let it get personal. Because he couldn't fucking stop himself.

They broke off. Maxine pushing herself back, still crackling with spit and snarling, gladius coming up, off hand alongside it.

Kasoria didn't raise his guard. She could see he change right away in him. Almost as if he'd been clubbed across the head and was shaking off the concussion. Wind still tore across the courtyards. The cobbles had been ripped up and now sand and dirt and savannah was revealed. He looked at her across empty air and a thousand angry words. Seeing the mistakes he had made and would make again.

You never know when to stop, do you?

The clanging of metal on stone was louder than a steeple's bell. Loud enough to make some watchers wince and jerk in shock where magic battles would elicit no reaction at all. The Band gaped anew as they watched their leader toss his weapon before her, and with his other hand, wave lazily-

All magical constructs by his hand falling apart. Sparks growling and yapping but obeying him, as they always did. They could sense it in him, too. This strange, human change. But their hosts were odd and did stupid things for unfathomable reasons. They retreated inside him and Kasoria stood there, empty-handed. Which didn't mean a lot, if you knew him well enough, but then he spoke-

"You win."
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Few things felt so satisfying as the destruction of a spell or the illusion of protection magic provided a mage. The feeling of his fist shattering shield and then crunching against the cartilage of his face. The back-pedal in silence, for once on his heels while he accepted the reality in which his Sparks laid dormant. Commanded walls were battered and rendered back to loose stone by furious winds, forcing the mage calmed and returned to himself to remain on the balls of his feet and moving.

He thwarted the final twister and Maxine dared not call for another. She had already committed to pressing him with steel. Her gladius was met by his, the edges grinding and as one intentional force was met with another.

Her face was bloody, bruised, and speckled with blood while the gale raged on around them. In her vengeful glare was this need for this culling, this exorcism of the rot that roiled in mind and soul. His was different. There was hatred, vitriol, and the corporal punishment reserved for his protege was escalated into that of a Capitol one instead. She saw that, felt that.

The rot spread.

Maxine had been here before. Impossible odds. A foe she did not delude herself into believing she could defeat and survive. A menagerie of animals with a Councillor alpha under the shadow of a grumbling volcano, or here in this courtyard within the fatal crosshairs of her father-figure of nearly divine mage skill while an audience looked on. It was all the same. This was her killing field and she was destined to lose.

But not without a say…

A Great Cataclysm.

She could feel herself reaching for it, willing it from within herself to wreak upon the immediate world she occupied. This courtyard, this city, she would wipe it all away. Let Yaralon be decimated as she decimated Faldrass. Let them be punished.

Maxine gasped as she broke from the Old Man, guard still up but the moment of lucidity she had from her own demons waking her from her terrible reverie. She created the distance with eyes wide before they darkened again. Her chest heaved and she instantly regretted every suck of air that forced her ribs to expand to allow it. She clenched her free fist and willed the terrible impulses in her mind to dissipate.

Don’t choose you. Just once.

The Great and Terrible powers she harbored remained unbidden.

The inner battle she won against herself did not liberate her from the threat that still loomed before her. She watched Kasoria with distrusting eyes even as he refused to raise his guard again. Her eyes followed the sword as he tossed it on the disturbed cobbles. Even over the winds she heard it’s clang of resignation. Kasoria was never unarmed. This was a gesture, but of what exactly?

She watched what was left of his cobble walls fall. The magic that he let rage about his own figure dulled. Her twisters had long since dissipated. The wind that still howled, she did not control once it was unleashed. All she could do was stand and bleed.

Watching.

Waiting.

"You win.”

Clutching their clothes whipping still in the wind, the audience glanced between themselves. Some murmured disbelief or confusion. Most, like The Band, were astoundingly silent, like sentinel statues observing the moment unfolding before their very eyes. They looked to him. Then, to her.

Max was shaking subtly now. With exhaustion. With pain becoming more prominent in her mind now that he had waved his proverbial white flag and the battle was finished. With withdrawal, for every use of her Stun Gloves came with a cost and the desire to use was burning like a starving fire inside her. But, anger, was the great inferno keeping her alight.

"No,” Maxine rejected him loudly, sternly. "No. No one wins.” Her gladius was sheathed sharply. "No one ever fucking wins.”

Max dared to move through the winds toward him but stopped short. Her left hand lowered to clutch at her aching side. Her right was a fist, a single finger independent from the rest to point harshly at him while she spoke over the gale.

"You told me not to die in that drug den, to clean up. I did! You told me to come to these strange lands with you and accept strange men like they were my own people, I did! Everything you’ve ever asked of me I have done. Even this!”

Her voice raised. She was shouting now, words laced with conviction and a hard vulnerability she did not wish to lay bare but belonged. Her finger kept pointing.

"I did not want to do business with that wretch. What he asked? Hunting and drugging that girl? Dragging her underground to some vile lair to be sacrificed and made a slave to a mage? All of that had been done to me. Or tried.

I was that girl arcs ago, just barely luckier, and you’ve no idea the horrors I’m responsible for because of it. All the blood I’ve spilled killing anything resembling the monsters from that night. You asked me to be that kind of monster and visit the same evil on another girl no different than I was. So I did!”


She winced but it did nothing to kill her flame. It needed to burn out on its own. Through her grimace he could see a different kind of pain in her mask, shining through like a hole in a dark curtain.

"And what did you do, Kasoria?”

Silence beyond just wind.

"WHAT DID YOU DO?!“

Her ribs protested the forcefulness of her speech.

"You asked me to forsake myself for you, for them and then you let it be for nothing! Everyone else has to fall in line, swallow poison for the mission, except for you?! You made that deal and fed that girl to that Lisirra worshipper! You let her death and what we did be in vain! You fucked them!”

Maxine’s finger moved to The Band and the Delegation. Then her hand dropped to her side and she stifled the exclamation of discomfort that came with the injuries doled upon her. Max shook her head and started for the exit of the courtyard. Her staggering feet moved straight for him, but her eyes were on the archway.


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He stood there and he took it. He accepted it. Face somewhere between neutral and miserable, uncaring now who saw it. There was no point to the magic or the swordplay, tearing apart the courtyard or summoning the elements into their fists. None of that needed to happen. It could have all been prevented if he'd just stopped and thought and-

Little late now, old man.

"WHAT DID YOU DO?!“

It wasn't a question begging an answer, no matter the volume it as screeched. Everyone watching knew. It was just another weapon for Maxine to wield, and cruelly, now he'd denied her the chance to slice or stab or bludgeon. He'd taken that visceral catharsis from her now. She had to make do with his dead-eyed stare boring into her, brimming with sapped strength and regret, taking all the satisfaction from the moment.

He had surrendered. He'd given up. Kasoria - the Kasoria - had yielded to her. A thousand men in Yaralon would have butchered a Burho with a soup spoon for that tale attached to their name. But Maxine took no joy from it, found no solace.

Kasoria's face twitched just the once, when he mentioned the girl again. And again. It wasn't the fact he forced her; it was that he'd forced her to become what she'd once beheld. She'd all but begged him, in her brattish way, not to do this. Worse, he'd known it was... beyond his pale. The Band and he were old hands at atrocity, but always with a purpose. Always within the vaguest of lines, and never to feed the bloated egos of mad mutants calling themselves gods. But Kasoria had not cared. He squashed her concerns, growling at her about discipline and hard choices and the greater good of his city...

He sighed and closed his eyes as she turned away from him. Where had all that gone, when it mattered?

Wrong question to ask.

She stormed away as hard and fast as bruised ribs and battered kidneys could allow. He didn't call out to her, order her to stop, beg her to listen. It was all too late for that. Something had broken between them, and he couldn't lie to himself anymore and shift the blame. All he'd told her had been bullshit, and it didn't mater. All he'd demanded of her had been a lie, and it didn't matter. That wasn't what caused this demented display, among friends and colleagues and strangers and the most threadbare of allies. None of it mattered.

Only the future. The consequences. What, and when... and whom.

Kasoria looked up and across the faces of The Band. They did not turn from him. The delegates did, but e expected that. Seasons of traveling with The Band and The Raggedy Man had humanized the brutes for most of the Etzori highborns, yet they'd always held a dram of fear in their eyes. Like they'd domesticated or placated a wild beast, yet while he was happy and unconcerned with bloodying his claws now, that could always change. Even Manclin had moments, fractions of them, when he forgot everything he'd seen and heard since that morning on the docks in Foster's Landing.

The Band didn't look away. Didn't insult him by rolling their eyes or shaking their heads or shrugging their shoulders. Play it all off as a mad fucking Morty-marked bitch spewing her bile. Not even Vaul would speak so base a falsehood, not even with his eyes. They stared back at him, faces set and long-unfamiliar regret flitting across callused expressions.

You let them down. Take what comes. You'll never be free of this if you don't.

Kasoria sighed and bowed his head, as if in prayer. The Band knew better. Could tell by the quick tightening of his hands into fists that he was speaking internally, to what actually gave a man strength, not muttering pointless words into dead, empty air.

Learn from this, you stupid old man. If you survive it.

The courtyard was still silent as Kasoria picked up his sword. By the time he'd left, the buzzing hum of voices had returned. It was quite a while later before someone asked who was going to put all those fucking stones back.
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Notes/Warnings: Violence.


Thread: Consequences
City/Area: Yaralon Proper
Kasoria:

Skill Knowledges:
Detection: Using Sound in Low Visibility to Accurately Locate Enemies
Discipline: Fighting through the Shock of Suddenly Losing your Sparks
Sovereign - Master: Blending Reach and Expel into an Invisible, Powerful Blow
Tactics: Learning the Strengths and Limitations of Your Allies, Not Just Enemies

Max:
GM: Detection
M: Athletics, Blades, Deception, Endurance, Leadership, Intimidation, Resistance, Tactics, Thrown Weapon, Unarmed Combat
E: Strength
C: Discipline

Requested Knowledge:
Blades: Striking Different Angles

Discipline: Holding It Together Until Directly Provoked to Violence

Endurance: Fighting Through Intentional Weakening of the Body to Combat Magic

Leadership: Pointing Out Leadership Inadequacies In Others

Leadership: Suffering a Fight You Know You Can’t Win with an Audience to Send a Message

Tactics: Trying To Force a Skilled Enemy Into a Specific Response

Tactics: Keeping Pressure on The Opponent

Tactics: Affecting Senses During Combat

Renown: Small, duel before an audience of Delegates and Sellswords.
Wealth Points: No
Collaboration: Yes
Local Language Thread? No
 ! Message from: Winston
Done!
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Skill Review: Appropriate to level.



Max

Feedback

Wowzer! Excellent scene here and well described. The history between these two was so palpable it was awesome. Nice work.

The writing on your speech to Kasoria was powerful and compelling. I liked your writing style and found your use of colours and formatting very clear and easy to read.

Please enjoy your rewards!

Rewards

  • Renown: 10
  • XP: 15

Kasoria

Feedback

Wowzer! Excellent scenes here and well described. The history between these two was so palpable it was awesome. Nice work.

Kas is always so serious and stern, looks like he's got a lot on his plate here. It was really good to see such an impassioned exchange between two PCs with such rich and full characters.

If you would please consider using the knowledge tagging system in future, that would be greatly appreciated.

Please enjoy your rewards!

Rewards

  • Renown: 10
  • XP: 15

Knowledges

  • Combat: Blades: Striking Different Angles
  • Discipline: Holding It Together Until Directly Provoked to Violence
  • Endurance: Fighting Through Intentional Weakening of the Body to Combat Magic
  • Leadership: Pointing Out Leadership Inadequacies In Others
  • Leadership: Suffering a Fight You Know You Can’t Win with an Audience to Send a Message
  • Tactics: Trying To Force a Skilled Enemy Into a Specific Response
  • Tactics: Keeping Pressure on The Opponent
  • Tactics: Affecting Senses During Combat

Winston's Catch of the Day is YOU!


word count: 233

Appearance

When standing at his full height, Winston towers a full 1 foot and one blueberry tall. A fact he will happily demonstrate before flicking said blue orb into the air with his nose and then eating it with a snappy grin.

His eyes are dark and sharp, ringed by dark brown fur upon the bright white fur that sets off across the rest of his face.

Equipement

Winston usually carries the following on his person:
  • Cassion's Locket hangs snugly around his neck.
  • Winston's Fairy Bell hangs from his tool-belt attached to his hip. It's 'ringer' is often bound by a small piece of cloth to prevent it giving away his position while in the wilderness.

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