Why do people like this exist?
Mages were terrible creatures, Percival thought; they perpetrated some of the worst atrocities in the history of mankind. They thought things like what’s more important? My work or my humanity? They turned humans into variables, the lives of children into opportunity, and the hearts of others into toys. Percy was no exception, in the moments leading up to that moment he thought he could preserve the safety of everyone and his work. In the moment he felt danger, he felt the neuron fire of that dark thought, of whether he would preserve his beautiful vessel and fight these mages, or protect the girl that could barely respect his work.
I need time... More time...
His fist loosed off the wheel to smash into a lever, and the comforting gravity of the Everlasting went away, leaving them all victims to the vessel’s movement and Mother Earth’s own forces. Then, he pulled back on the control sharply, and the vessel pitched its nose upward and dropped its stern.
A second? Half...?
Like a hunter on the kill, he surged after Tanuki, doing all he could possibly do to reach her. The ship didn’t matter any more, it would hover only briefly before eventually tumbling to a disastrous wreck without his connection to the engine. Everything inside would be destroyed, months, even years, of work gone in the blink of an eye. It didn’t matter anymore, though.
A half-second is all I need...
He was seized by something that burned his heart like a fire. In the short distance, he drew a small, snub-nosed pistol. The Alchemist of Safeholme collided into the girl and braced himself against her as he took her off the stern. If he died here, they would kill her, whether or not it was the permanent death that was his ascendance. He could only count on one thing now: gravity.
CRASH!
In his wake, the AXETONNE splintered after its master, pressed by the force of gravity to follow them in their descent. The armor was open, and Percival could glance to see it was ready for a pilot. It just needed to reach them, they just needed to survive. He fired three rounds down to the ground, causing a fiery pow, an icy chat and then, finally, a thunderous boom that slowed their descent to let the armor catch up to them.
Chapter 2.1: The Siege of Safeholme
-
Gwathdraug
- Posts: 281
- Joined: Fri Dec 24, 2010 9:48 am
Re: Chapter 2.1: The Siege of Safeholme
The gentle touch, the exacting application of the minimum amount of mana, the utter lack of emotion to the binding of a soul-- Riley could feel all these traits in the actions of the enemy necromancer scratching against their skin, buzzing beneath their tongue, bitter between their ears. The dispassion in which the man executed his mastery - his raising of Maella - was in stark opposition of everything that was Riley Erin Alstad.
There was no thought as the Stage Magician raised their hand. Power spiraled towards their palm; the weight and need of it de-stabilizing the black scale breastplate that had been conjured for Lyra. The power became a black point and then spun itself into a thread. Riley's fingers closed around the thread and ripped it towards their chest.
The sounds of cloth tearing, of glass breaking, and the roar of rushing water bubbled tumultuously around the brown haired mage.
Maella's shadow flickered.
Again. Again. Again. Again- the motion repeating until it seemed as if the risen body's shadow had become animated by a breath of its own. Then, in the space of a blink, the shadow winked out of existence.
Standing opposite of the risen Keeper was its perfect negative down to the hole through cloak and chest that had ended her life.
---
Lyra cut through the billowing slash of fire that had been returned to her by her fellow swordsman. The large woman felt as the conjured armour against her chest faded away to nothing, but knew she had no time to investigate the reason behind it. Wounds to her sibling - whether it be to the dragon or the human were just as dangerous to both.
It was necessary that she act.
The swordswoman released herself to her magic and the whole world snapped into silence even down to the beat of her own blood. The surge of mana across her limbs and chest was a song of its own though and with a sudden, unnatural speed it was Lyra that was at the mageslayer's flank with her blade thrusting towards his side.
---
Slamming a clawed hand against the ground the dragon raised great fangs of stone from the ground to pierce the bolts of mana intended for Miyuki.
Then, with a slam of its tail against the ground, the great wyrm reached out to the mass of mana that the intruder's leader had gathered for himself and pulled back at the stolen energy.
---
Amidst the fog and pain that surrounded Maella's shackled soul there was a sudden understanding. It appeared unvoiced and made no demands.
There was a body that stood open to her. A body that only she would control - a body that was hers.
But, accepting it would not free the parts of her bent to the enemy's control. If she made the choice she would have to shatter her own soul.
There was no thought as the Stage Magician raised their hand. Power spiraled towards their palm; the weight and need of it de-stabilizing the black scale breastplate that had been conjured for Lyra. The power became a black point and then spun itself into a thread. Riley's fingers closed around the thread and ripped it towards their chest.
The sounds of cloth tearing, of glass breaking, and the roar of rushing water bubbled tumultuously around the brown haired mage.
Maella's shadow flickered.
Again. Again. Again. Again- the motion repeating until it seemed as if the risen body's shadow had become animated by a breath of its own. Then, in the space of a blink, the shadow winked out of existence.
Standing opposite of the risen Keeper was its perfect negative down to the hole through cloak and chest that had ended her life.
---
Lyra cut through the billowing slash of fire that had been returned to her by her fellow swordsman. The large woman felt as the conjured armour against her chest faded away to nothing, but knew she had no time to investigate the reason behind it. Wounds to her sibling - whether it be to the dragon or the human were just as dangerous to both.
It was necessary that she act.
The swordswoman released herself to her magic and the whole world snapped into silence even down to the beat of her own blood. The surge of mana across her limbs and chest was a song of its own though and with a sudden, unnatural speed it was Lyra that was at the mageslayer's flank with her blade thrusting towards his side.
---
Slamming a clawed hand against the ground the dragon raised great fangs of stone from the ground to pierce the bolts of mana intended for Miyuki.
Then, with a slam of its tail against the ground, the great wyrm reached out to the mass of mana that the intruder's leader had gathered for himself and pulled back at the stolen energy.
---
Amidst the fog and pain that surrounded Maella's shackled soul there was a sudden understanding. It appeared unvoiced and made no demands.
There was a body that stood open to her. A body that only she would control - a body that was hers.
But, accepting it would not free the parts of her bent to the enemy's control. If she made the choice she would have to shatter her own soul.
Re: Chapter 2.1: The Siege of Safeholme
Miyuki's zone of absolute cold helped to absorb much of what came at her, but the cloud of steam and ice did manage to obscure her vision, though not for long. The mana bolts found themselves intercepted almost immediately by layered crystalline shields, formed effortlessly out of the cloud that had been obscuring not a moment ago, and the Ice Queen's fall continued, her huge hammer having been shaved down to something that resembled a pickaxe or warclub instead- while not holding as much force as the massive hammer would have, it's sharpened point would be no less deadly
"You're not getting off that easily!" Miyuki shouted, and projected some of her own mana-the energy that she had been releasing as steam to speed her descent now turned into a wave of water and ice as she added it to a conjuration that could be described more as a tsunami than anything else. A storm was one thing, but a wall of freezing water was another thing to try and deal with in an instant.
"You're not getting off that easily!" Miyuki shouted, and projected some of her own mana-the energy that she had been releasing as steam to speed her descent now turned into a wave of water and ice as she added it to a conjuration that could be described more as a tsunami than anything else. A storm was one thing, but a wall of freezing water was another thing to try and deal with in an instant.
-
Mr. Blackbird Lore
- Posts: 722
- Joined: Fri Dec 31, 2010 1:48 pm
Re: Chapter 2.1: The Siege of Safeholme
Above Safeholme
"Heughk!" That's the closest written description to the sound that whooshed from Tanuki's lungs as she was tackled off the careening airship. She didn't scream. Danger made her silent, hands balled into fists. Eyes flung open, darting around to figure out just what the hell was going on! Professor Caxton had her in his arms, but she didn't have time to worry about the discomforting closeness. Four hot blasts of mana sailed over her head and the professor's feet. They curled in a weak attempt to track them, but it was clear even magic must contend with certain laws of physics.
CRASH
She stiffened again at the sudden burst of splinters and curled into the safety of Percival's embrace. Wary eyes peeked over his shoulder, and saw the great mecha she had seen in his office. As she processed this there came three reports and a lurch in their momentum. The AXETONNE neared, but she could feel the world racing faster. The earth would snatch them up before the suit could. Small hands pressed against Percival's chest so they could see each other eye-to-eye. There was a grim certainty and trust in her eyes. It wasn't a look a child should have to give an adult.
"You'll catch me," she told him, then pulled her knees to her chest and kicked her Professor up into the suit. She never turned around, and she never took her eyes off the alchemist. There was no need. He would catch her. She knew he would.
Aboard the Everlasting
The shirtless mage, sensing the shift of things, thrust himself toward the stern of the ship-- which had become the bottom. His visage was one of perfect calm and focus. In the time it took Caxton to be reunited with his AXETONNE, the mage had reached the gunwale of the stern and flipped over it. Positioned as he was, he looked as if he planned to catch the entire airship on his shoulders like a modern day Atlas.
The robed mage fared well, though suddenly losing her footing as the ship took a hard dive stymied her aggressive momentum. Her free hand shot to her chest and gripped the anatomically accurate heart-shaped pendant wrapped in silver barbed wire. There was a wince as the barbs bit her scarred flesh. She fell through the air in silence, lips moving in a silent prayer. Seconds later, demonic wings burst from her back and tore open her robe. The shreds fell away to reveal an open-backed top, dark jeans, and knee-high boots. Properly equipped for flight, the warlock dove after the mecha, an arc of lightning spearing from the tip of her staff toward the AXETONNE.
At the Edge of the Wilderwood
Once again, the Master Arcanist found himself within the jaws of war. Stony teeth surged from below to intercept his counterstrike; a glacial fang plummeted from above; mist like the frigid breath of an ice dragon descended; and amidst it all, someone was trying to steal his magic.
He smiled, thrilled by the fight-- the challenge. It had been a long time since he had been tested.
The dragon felt the tug met with even force-- and then bind them. In an even tug-o-war their strength was slightly in the arcanist's favor. Energy was drawn inexorably toward him. At the same time, he produced a barrier dome. It was clear that while it might withstand the mists, it would never repel the icicle. And it wouldn't need to. An ax came whistling out of the Wilderwood and sliced through the tip. The deadly point spun away and the remainder of Miyuki's spear was shunted off course.
A trio of arrows were almost upon the Ice Queen by time she saw the glint and heard the whistle. Emerging beneath them was Skarnir, bow in his hands, quiver on his shoulder, and a grim determination in his eyes.
The Ravaged Festival Grounds
In the battle for Maella's soul, the necromancer was so utterly surprised that his efforts were contested that he failed to promptly respond. The freshly dead druid did not need long to consider. Her imprisonment within her own body was so utterly at odds with everything she believed; and there before her was a new freedom.
There are things worse than dying. Shattering your own soul is certainly one of them. Maella suffered this self-inflicted anguish in silence, her body ordered to silence by its new master and her new shadow-body not yet within her control. And just as quickly as the pain had struck, it vanished, sucked away by the same vacuous force that had caused it. And she was free again-- free to do as she bid.
Out of spite, the necromancer raised the other well-known corpse. The nurse of Safeholme slowly climbed to her feet, unphased by her charred black flesh or her unmoving heart. Of his six remaining wraiths, two he instructed to assist the nurse. None had ever witnessed her fight-- in truth, there was great doubt as to whether she'd ever even wrestled as a child. Soon, they would find out what she was capable of.
The remaining four wraiths relinquished their master and raced to the aid of the mageslayer. The mageslayer kicked at the air to his right and thrust off as if the air itself were solid, neatly avoiding Lyra's thrust and torquing his body to counter with a wide and powerful slash of his own sword. The momentum of his kick and the twist turned him into a deadly corkscrew as he passed her. He completed three revolutions- three consecutive slashes at her thigh and soft flank- as he passed. Then two pairs of taloned feet snatched him by the arms and pulled him beyond Lyra's reach. A second pair of wraiths dove toward the exposed swordswoman in a shallow pincer attempt.
The elementalist flying an gouts of flame had finally eradicated her pursuers. Sensing the shift in the battle, she redirected toward the arcanist and Miyuki. She surged upward on an interdiction path behind and below the Ice Queen. At a carefully calculated moment she ceased her flight and pointed her hands up at the falling and exposed ice elementalist: twin comets of blue flame arced around the attacker and would reunite where Miyuki was destined to land.
"Heughk!" That's the closest written description to the sound that whooshed from Tanuki's lungs as she was tackled off the careening airship. She didn't scream. Danger made her silent, hands balled into fists. Eyes flung open, darting around to figure out just what the hell was going on! Professor Caxton had her in his arms, but she didn't have time to worry about the discomforting closeness. Four hot blasts of mana sailed over her head and the professor's feet. They curled in a weak attempt to track them, but it was clear even magic must contend with certain laws of physics.
CRASH
She stiffened again at the sudden burst of splinters and curled into the safety of Percival's embrace. Wary eyes peeked over his shoulder, and saw the great mecha she had seen in his office. As she processed this there came three reports and a lurch in their momentum. The AXETONNE neared, but she could feel the world racing faster. The earth would snatch them up before the suit could. Small hands pressed against Percival's chest so they could see each other eye-to-eye. There was a grim certainty and trust in her eyes. It wasn't a look a child should have to give an adult.
"You'll catch me," she told him, then pulled her knees to her chest and kicked her Professor up into the suit. She never turned around, and she never took her eyes off the alchemist. There was no need. He would catch her. She knew he would.
Aboard the Everlasting
The shirtless mage, sensing the shift of things, thrust himself toward the stern of the ship-- which had become the bottom. His visage was one of perfect calm and focus. In the time it took Caxton to be reunited with his AXETONNE, the mage had reached the gunwale of the stern and flipped over it. Positioned as he was, he looked as if he planned to catch the entire airship on his shoulders like a modern day Atlas.
The robed mage fared well, though suddenly losing her footing as the ship took a hard dive stymied her aggressive momentum. Her free hand shot to her chest and gripped the anatomically accurate heart-shaped pendant wrapped in silver barbed wire. There was a wince as the barbs bit her scarred flesh. She fell through the air in silence, lips moving in a silent prayer. Seconds later, demonic wings burst from her back and tore open her robe. The shreds fell away to reveal an open-backed top, dark jeans, and knee-high boots. Properly equipped for flight, the warlock dove after the mecha, an arc of lightning spearing from the tip of her staff toward the AXETONNE.
At the Edge of the Wilderwood
Once again, the Master Arcanist found himself within the jaws of war. Stony teeth surged from below to intercept his counterstrike; a glacial fang plummeted from above; mist like the frigid breath of an ice dragon descended; and amidst it all, someone was trying to steal his magic.
He smiled, thrilled by the fight-- the challenge. It had been a long time since he had been tested.
The dragon felt the tug met with even force-- and then bind them. In an even tug-o-war their strength was slightly in the arcanist's favor. Energy was drawn inexorably toward him. At the same time, he produced a barrier dome. It was clear that while it might withstand the mists, it would never repel the icicle. And it wouldn't need to. An ax came whistling out of the Wilderwood and sliced through the tip. The deadly point spun away and the remainder of Miyuki's spear was shunted off course.
A trio of arrows were almost upon the Ice Queen by time she saw the glint and heard the whistle. Emerging beneath them was Skarnir, bow in his hands, quiver on his shoulder, and a grim determination in his eyes.
The Ravaged Festival Grounds
In the battle for Maella's soul, the necromancer was so utterly surprised that his efforts were contested that he failed to promptly respond. The freshly dead druid did not need long to consider. Her imprisonment within her own body was so utterly at odds with everything she believed; and there before her was a new freedom.
There are things worse than dying. Shattering your own soul is certainly one of them. Maella suffered this self-inflicted anguish in silence, her body ordered to silence by its new master and her new shadow-body not yet within her control. And just as quickly as the pain had struck, it vanished, sucked away by the same vacuous force that had caused it. And she was free again-- free to do as she bid.
Out of spite, the necromancer raised the other well-known corpse. The nurse of Safeholme slowly climbed to her feet, unphased by her charred black flesh or her unmoving heart. Of his six remaining wraiths, two he instructed to assist the nurse. None had ever witnessed her fight-- in truth, there was great doubt as to whether she'd ever even wrestled as a child. Soon, they would find out what she was capable of.
The remaining four wraiths relinquished their master and raced to the aid of the mageslayer. The mageslayer kicked at the air to his right and thrust off as if the air itself were solid, neatly avoiding Lyra's thrust and torquing his body to counter with a wide and powerful slash of his own sword. The momentum of his kick and the twist turned him into a deadly corkscrew as he passed her. He completed three revolutions- three consecutive slashes at her thigh and soft flank- as he passed. Then two pairs of taloned feet snatched him by the arms and pulled him beyond Lyra's reach. A second pair of wraiths dove toward the exposed swordswoman in a shallow pincer attempt.
The elementalist flying an gouts of flame had finally eradicated her pursuers. Sensing the shift in the battle, she redirected toward the arcanist and Miyuki. She surged upward on an interdiction path behind and below the Ice Queen. At a carefully calculated moment she ceased her flight and pointed her hands up at the falling and exposed ice elementalist: twin comets of blue flame arced around the attacker and would reunite where Miyuki was destined to land.
Re: Chapter 2.1: The Siege of Safeholme
The Wilderwood
This wasn’t right. This wasn’t how he had looked when facing down Auril. Irrelevant. The Queen of Cold & Frost was decimating his allies, and he needed to act. His mind raced. This wasn’t a memory. He had the ring, but he had taken it from Auril. His hand somehow felt more numb than usual. The ring wanted to go back. He had to finish this. He had slain Auril once, he could do it again. Composite blackwood longbow in hand, Skarnir nocked and shot his thundering heavy arrows at The Cold Goddess.
“Stormvalius! You’re drawing too much attention! Get behind me!” Skarnir bellowed at the Arcanist as he lined up another shot. If Auril got too close, he’d ditch the bow and pull his longsword. “Come, Auril! Let me return to you the name Brittle Maiden.”
Festival Grounds
This wasn’t right. How could this have happened? What had she done to deserve this hell? No, that wasn’t right either. She knew what she had done. And somehow it got even worse. Her entrapped soul was torn from the bitter cage the necromancer had built. As she found herself out-of-body she wanted nothing more than to rest; she was so tired. Now was not the time to rest however. The revenant Mealla raised her saber in a punctuated salute before dropping into a well practiced stance similar to a fencer’s stance. Body turned, her sword arm held close to her body while the saber’s tip pointed directly towards the shade’s chest. Her last task would be to send herself to the grave.
The Cottage
This wasn’t right. There was an intruder in the house, and he needed to protect the Master’s home. Alva rose from his slumber at the foot of the Master’s bed and inspected his surroundings. The atmosphere was wrong. Everything was too still, save for the foreign presence downstairs. On large padded paws, the shaggy adolescent mastiff plodded carefully to the stairs. Planted in a power stance, the young dog belted out a deep thundering bark that shook his body and the pictures hanging on the wall. Fangs bared, his booming barks continued, and blue light seemed to glow within his fur as though it had drawn in and held onto the cottage’s ambient magic. This was his purpose. Alva was a guard dog, and Alva was a good boy.
This wasn’t right. This wasn’t how he had looked when facing down Auril. Irrelevant. The Queen of Cold & Frost was decimating his allies, and he needed to act. His mind raced. This wasn’t a memory. He had the ring, but he had taken it from Auril. His hand somehow felt more numb than usual. The ring wanted to go back. He had to finish this. He had slain Auril once, he could do it again. Composite blackwood longbow in hand, Skarnir nocked and shot his thundering heavy arrows at The Cold Goddess.
“Stormvalius! You’re drawing too much attention! Get behind me!” Skarnir bellowed at the Arcanist as he lined up another shot. If Auril got too close, he’d ditch the bow and pull his longsword. “Come, Auril! Let me return to you the name Brittle Maiden.”
Festival Grounds
This wasn’t right. How could this have happened? What had she done to deserve this hell? No, that wasn’t right either. She knew what she had done. And somehow it got even worse. Her entrapped soul was torn from the bitter cage the necromancer had built. As she found herself out-of-body she wanted nothing more than to rest; she was so tired. Now was not the time to rest however. The revenant Mealla raised her saber in a punctuated salute before dropping into a well practiced stance similar to a fencer’s stance. Body turned, her sword arm held close to her body while the saber’s tip pointed directly towards the shade’s chest. Her last task would be to send herself to the grave.
The Cottage
This wasn’t right. There was an intruder in the house, and he needed to protect the Master’s home. Alva rose from his slumber at the foot of the Master’s bed and inspected his surroundings. The atmosphere was wrong. Everything was too still, save for the foreign presence downstairs. On large padded paws, the shaggy adolescent mastiff plodded carefully to the stairs. Planted in a power stance, the young dog belted out a deep thundering bark that shook his body and the pictures hanging on the wall. Fangs bared, his booming barks continued, and blue light seemed to glow within his fur as though it had drawn in and held onto the cottage’s ambient magic. This was his purpose. Alva was a guard dog, and Alva was a good boy.
Re: Chapter 2.1: The Siege of Safeholme
In the Sky Above
"NOOOO!”
The Alchemist's arm flailed after Tanuki, discarding his revolver, in a futile attempt to recover her. His back struck hard into the arresting chair, and he got one last glimpse of the girl.
SHUNT.
Access plates crashed shut over him as the AXETONNE received its master, cloistering him away in the control pod. There was no time to feel, he needed a solution, and it needed to happen now. While he slammed his fist on the induction plate to spin up the frame's engine, his mind ran the numbers faster than he had ever needed to in his entire life.
Built out of a desperate need to contribute, the AXETONNE was an alchemical mech designed for land-based security, it was equipped with the Vialshield and the Chemical Thrower. There were no jets, no wings, nothing that would grant him safe maneuverability or flight. He had to create that maneuverability, then and there, while also cushioning the landing.
Leywire capacity can take up to 6000 Wells…
When nothing was loaded in the chemical thrower, the pressure tank could let loose a powerful blast…
... 5673.636 Wells for critical load, heat and air pressure … 4737… 737…
The vents on the frame all pointed downward to bleed excess heat…
Angle of incidence… with approximately 391.87… the newtons required…
It was a moment, but the time he didn't have felt like an eternity lived through every tick of the clock. By the time the mystweave veil lit up inside with a view of the outside, the numbers had fallen into place.
Outside, the AXETONNE roared to life, with intense gusto, the knightly helm emitting a furious green glow from the eyes. While the engine began to scream to its limit, Percival ejected the canister from the chemical thrower. This shot pushed him toward Tanuki, and the mech scooped the girl up behind the Vialshield. Like the Professor, there was no left arm to hold the shield, just an articulation bar with enough space for Tanuki to hide behind.
"Hold on!" The modulated, metallic voice of Mr. Caxton emitted from the helm.
A sharp hiss from the chemical thrower on the right brought the mecha back upright. Then, with the ground rapidly approaching, the exhaust vents opened to release a payload of highly pressurized, hot air; built from supercharging the engine. The thrust cut their momentum, with mere feet to spare.
With a clamorous noise, the mech landed, only to look up and find a lightning bolt racing down after them. The frame brought up the shield, and crouched behind it.
The Vialshield was Percival's pride and joy, a massive slab of orihalcum with brass tubing underlaid beneath to pump ghostwater. Moving ghostwater redirected the flow of magic, and a reticulating network of ghostwater lines would help disperse most of the force of the lightning blast. Tanuki could see the gears behind this defensive bulwark spinning, holding a variety of vials, canisters and jars. A red canister was passed over to the chemical thrower, and the frame returned fire with a narrow jet of flame into the sky against their pursuers.
In the Wilderwood
He hadn't been there; he was always there, to wait for her, to comfort her. He made the bad memories go away. She didn't see their faces when he held her. She hadn't seen the faces in weeks.
Now they tormented her.
He was gone, evil creatures had filled the forest. They tried to hurt her, but her hatred made them go away. She didn't like to be hateful. The emotion felt so wrong in her throat, but it was the only thing she could grip on to in this mental maelstrom. Vicious memories tore through her heart as she trudged through the forest.
The death of dear friends.
The sword through her back.
Dying again at the hands of a traitor.
She didn't know these people, she didn't know the traitor. Ever since she came to being, she had no context for the suffering.
After walking for what her mind felt was days, she came on a wide clearing. The big building. The large garden. The small cottage. She stayed away from these places. They had strangers, in and throughout. Desperation drove her to go searching.
Then, she saw the fighting. More strangers. These were like the ones that tried to hurt her before. One of them was trying to attack someone. Someone that her memories gave some semblance of warmth to. She didn't know why…
…but it vindicated her hatred.
Skarnir would find thorny vines reaching up to take him, brambles and woody boughs piling over to suffocate him under deadly growth. Behind him, at the treeline, he could hear the throaty snarl of something small and hateful.
It was Modeka, the broken Forest God, with dirt-sodden trails of tears running from her eyes, blood caked over her in spots and spurts, and summoning terrible nature to devour him whole.
"NOOOO!”
The Alchemist's arm flailed after Tanuki, discarding his revolver, in a futile attempt to recover her. His back struck hard into the arresting chair, and he got one last glimpse of the girl.
SHUNT.
Access plates crashed shut over him as the AXETONNE received its master, cloistering him away in the control pod. There was no time to feel, he needed a solution, and it needed to happen now. While he slammed his fist on the induction plate to spin up the frame's engine, his mind ran the numbers faster than he had ever needed to in his entire life.
Built out of a desperate need to contribute, the AXETONNE was an alchemical mech designed for land-based security, it was equipped with the Vialshield and the Chemical Thrower. There were no jets, no wings, nothing that would grant him safe maneuverability or flight. He had to create that maneuverability, then and there, while also cushioning the landing.
Leywire capacity can take up to 6000 Wells…
When nothing was loaded in the chemical thrower, the pressure tank could let loose a powerful blast…
... 5673.636 Wells for critical load, heat and air pressure … 4737… 737…
The vents on the frame all pointed downward to bleed excess heat…
Angle of incidence… with approximately 391.87… the newtons required…
It was a moment, but the time he didn't have felt like an eternity lived through every tick of the clock. By the time the mystweave veil lit up inside with a view of the outside, the numbers had fallen into place.
Outside, the AXETONNE roared to life, with intense gusto, the knightly helm emitting a furious green glow from the eyes. While the engine began to scream to its limit, Percival ejected the canister from the chemical thrower. This shot pushed him toward Tanuki, and the mech scooped the girl up behind the Vialshield. Like the Professor, there was no left arm to hold the shield, just an articulation bar with enough space for Tanuki to hide behind.
"Hold on!" The modulated, metallic voice of Mr. Caxton emitted from the helm.
A sharp hiss from the chemical thrower on the right brought the mecha back upright. Then, with the ground rapidly approaching, the exhaust vents opened to release a payload of highly pressurized, hot air; built from supercharging the engine. The thrust cut their momentum, with mere feet to spare.
With a clamorous noise, the mech landed, only to look up and find a lightning bolt racing down after them. The frame brought up the shield, and crouched behind it.
The Vialshield was Percival's pride and joy, a massive slab of orihalcum with brass tubing underlaid beneath to pump ghostwater. Moving ghostwater redirected the flow of magic, and a reticulating network of ghostwater lines would help disperse most of the force of the lightning blast. Tanuki could see the gears behind this defensive bulwark spinning, holding a variety of vials, canisters and jars. A red canister was passed over to the chemical thrower, and the frame returned fire with a narrow jet of flame into the sky against their pursuers.
In the Wilderwood
He hadn't been there; he was always there, to wait for her, to comfort her. He made the bad memories go away. She didn't see their faces when he held her. She hadn't seen the faces in weeks.
Now they tormented her.
He was gone, evil creatures had filled the forest. They tried to hurt her, but her hatred made them go away. She didn't like to be hateful. The emotion felt so wrong in her throat, but it was the only thing she could grip on to in this mental maelstrom. Vicious memories tore through her heart as she trudged through the forest.
The death of dear friends.
The sword through her back.
Dying again at the hands of a traitor.
She didn't know these people, she didn't know the traitor. Ever since she came to being, she had no context for the suffering.
After walking for what her mind felt was days, she came on a wide clearing. The big building. The large garden. The small cottage. She stayed away from these places. They had strangers, in and throughout. Desperation drove her to go searching.
Then, she saw the fighting. More strangers. These were like the ones that tried to hurt her before. One of them was trying to attack someone. Someone that her memories gave some semblance of warmth to. She didn't know why…
…but it vindicated her hatred.
Skarnir would find thorny vines reaching up to take him, brambles and woody boughs piling over to suffocate him under deadly growth. Behind him, at the treeline, he could hear the throaty snarl of something small and hateful.
It was Modeka, the broken Forest God, with dirt-sodden trails of tears running from her eyes, blood caked over her in spots and spurts, and summoning terrible nature to devour him whole.
Re: Chapter 2.1: The Siege of Safeholme
Seeing her spear shunted aside, and sensing the attacks from every direction, Miyuki tucked in on herself. before she finished the movement, a ball of ice formed around her in half an instant, thicker, stronger, and harder than any ice anyone would normally encounter- liken to the at the bottom of a glacier. The Ice Queen had no choice but to protect herself for the moment, the layers of ice growing even as the arrows struck, even as she descended toward the ground and the balls of blue flame. Miyuki would be insulated from it all, but at the moment, she couldn't do anything else. or at least, it seemed that way. The rapidly growing ball of ice began to glow an unearthly blue, with some sort of power emanating from the center- it was beyond Mana, beyond simple magic, but it seemed incomplete for the moment.
Below the Arcanist, something moved. the ground itself suddenly seemed unstable, shifting from rock and earth into what felt more like sand. that wasn't all, however, as a new heat began emanating from below. not just heat, but water, a steam like a geothermal vent, all having begun emerging from far below, below what he could simply suck away, something, or rather, some things were working together to create a sinkhole, filled with enough superheated steam to cook most humans alive in mere moments. Three familiars, three guardians, three beasts. The protectors of Miyuki's Babylon gemstones worked together to try and do something about this attacker that was trying to destroy their home.
Below the Arcanist, something moved. the ground itself suddenly seemed unstable, shifting from rock and earth into what felt more like sand. that wasn't all, however, as a new heat began emanating from below. not just heat, but water, a steam like a geothermal vent, all having begun emerging from far below, below what he could simply suck away, something, or rather, some things were working together to create a sinkhole, filled with enough superheated steam to cook most humans alive in mere moments. Three familiars, three guardians, three beasts. The protectors of Miyuki's Babylon gemstones worked together to try and do something about this attacker that was trying to destroy their home.
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Gwathdraug
- Posts: 281
- Joined: Fri Dec 24, 2010 9:48 am
Re: Chapter 2.1: The Siege of Safeholme
Lyra barely moved her blade across her body in time. Once for her ribs she blocked. Once for her thigh her blade and the mageslayer's slid off each other their flats passing like silk on silk. The third strike - her enemy moving faster than he could alone from the aid of the wraiths - went for her spine and the swordswoman could only twist herself to take the cut above her hip in place of countering it.
Her mana bubbled along the long red cut - not healing it but slowing the bleed to a crawl.
Without slowing from the wound Lyra's arm lashed out grabbing one of the wraiths that turned suddenly corporeal under her grip and spun placing the two wraiths interposed over each other. A thrust of her sword lanced through the both of them and then ripped out their sides. Turning on her heel back towards her target, Lyra pulled a dagger out from under her jacket and threw the weapon directly at the mageslayer while he was still mid-air with the wraiths and unable to dodge.
--
Riley bared their teeth as the necromancer dismissed the guard of undead around him. As the last shadow of a passing wraith flew away from the man, the stage magician snapped their fingers and a wolf formed from a snarling black mask and a bristling mane of spikes over a body of magic crawled from out of the wraith's shadow.
With a howl the beast leapt forward, claws and fangs out, right at the chest of the necromancer.
--
The arcanist's binding settled over the dragon and she snarled in response - wings flexing in protest of the unseen chains. Smoke shrouded around the face of the wyrm despite her lack of mouth or nose and lashed out at the air in agitated tendrils. Her magic and the enemies leader's was trapped in a push and pull that there was now no way for her to remove herself from without winning.
But, a dragon's control of fire was not Power it was Law. The angular, serpentine head turned towards the elementalist and with a raised claw the wyrm called upon the flames keeping the spellcaster aloft. The spell bucked and resisted the call and the dragon let out a rumbling chuckle in response.
Come.
The draconic word was alien - utterly foreign to the ears of the combatants - yet could not be understood as anything but what it spoke into the world. The fire beneath the elementalist was ripped away into a volatile ball of hatred floating above the dragon's palm and in a flash she threw the blaze as a lance against the arcanist's shields.
Her mana bubbled along the long red cut - not healing it but slowing the bleed to a crawl.
Without slowing from the wound Lyra's arm lashed out grabbing one of the wraiths that turned suddenly corporeal under her grip and spun placing the two wraiths interposed over each other. A thrust of her sword lanced through the both of them and then ripped out their sides. Turning on her heel back towards her target, Lyra pulled a dagger out from under her jacket and threw the weapon directly at the mageslayer while he was still mid-air with the wraiths and unable to dodge.
--
Riley bared their teeth as the necromancer dismissed the guard of undead around him. As the last shadow of a passing wraith flew away from the man, the stage magician snapped their fingers and a wolf formed from a snarling black mask and a bristling mane of spikes over a body of magic crawled from out of the wraith's shadow.
With a howl the beast leapt forward, claws and fangs out, right at the chest of the necromancer.
--
The arcanist's binding settled over the dragon and she snarled in response - wings flexing in protest of the unseen chains. Smoke shrouded around the face of the wyrm despite her lack of mouth or nose and lashed out at the air in agitated tendrils. Her magic and the enemies leader's was trapped in a push and pull that there was now no way for her to remove herself from without winning.
But, a dragon's control of fire was not Power it was Law. The angular, serpentine head turned towards the elementalist and with a raised claw the wyrm called upon the flames keeping the spellcaster aloft. The spell bucked and resisted the call and the dragon let out a rumbling chuckle in response.
Come.
The draconic word was alien - utterly foreign to the ears of the combatants - yet could not be understood as anything but what it spoke into the world. The fire beneath the elementalist was ripped away into a volatile ball of hatred floating above the dragon's palm and in a flash she threw the blaze as a lance against the arcanist's shields.
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Mr. Blackbird Lore
- Posts: 722
- Joined: Fri Dec 31, 2010 1:48 pm
Re: Chapter 2.1: The Siege of Safeholme
The Ravaged Festival Grounds
Professor Caxton did indeed catch his fledgling student. Tanuki's feral grin went unwitnessed, tucked as she was behind the shield. Their landing jarred the Japanese weaver, but caused no harm. The lightning barely marred the Vialshield.
The AXETONNE's retaliatory strike was anticipated. The dark-winged warlock had taken her barbed heart pendant in hand a second time and continued her aggressive descent. The Violent Heart glowed faintly for a moment before she released it. Her skin darkened rapidly to maroon as she plunged into the flames. The heat gave her new form a burnished glow, but did no harm. In fact, her skin seemed to drink up the tongues of flame greedily, and the flamethrower dried up faster than it ought to. The warlock's smile was garish and menacing, her staff pointed at the AXETONNE's head. A glistening blast of frost energy exploded from the gem atop the staff.
Tanuki, sensing danger and knowing she would only get in Professor Caxton's way, slipped free of the alchemecha. As she was running away, trying to put the professor between her and the plummeting airship, she saw a glint in the grass and stumbled to a halt. When she stood again, she held Percival's alchemical revolver in two hands and was aiming it up at the warlock with an adult intensity in her eyes.
Less than a hundred yards away, the shadow-wraith that held Mealla's soul turned toward her old body, ready for combat. The body collapsed, limp and utterly lifeless. Having misread Riley's intentions, the necromancer had cut his losses and relinquished his control, considering a struggle for the body to be unworthy of the effort. From the nearby row of wrecked stalls, Brenya Lilibloom's corpse came into view, two winged wraiths hovering above and behind. She had been given simple instructions by her master: harass, but survive. She pointed and the wraiths advanced on Mealla.
Luckily for all, the Everlasting was plummeting toward unoccupied space. The dark-skinned mage still clung to the stern, as if he honestly expected to defy all laws of physics and catch it on his back. He disappeared from view behind the wreckage of festival stalls, and the airship struck the earth.
It was like closing your eyes when you see the dodgeball hurtling toward your face, and then never getting hit. The earth didn't quake, or rumble. It didn't even quiver. Slowly, as though it were being set aside by a giant, the Everlasting was tipped onto its side, crushing several stalls but otherwise causing minimal damage. Still, the earth did not so much as sigh.
And then it did. A single boom, like a jet blasting through the sound barrier rocked the school grounds-- and that wasn't far from the truth. The shirtless mage was hurtling through the air like a supersonic artillery shell, little more than a blur. At this speed, Caxton couldn't see him, but the AXETONNE's wards were sufficient to detect the approach, but their interpretation was lacking: MUNDANE MUNITION IMMINENT. Percival had just enough time to hear the warning, glance up at the rapidly growing indicator and see the placid face of the man, his brightly glowing belt, and one arm cocked back for a haymaker.
He finally recognized in that instant that this man was a kineticist: a mage capable of using mana to capture, store, and redirect physical energies. That was why this strange martial artist was wearing a carbon fiber belt studded with tungsten-- they could endure incredible wear and tear; that was why the belt glowed with incredible intensity-- those tungsten studs and even the carbon fibers were containing immense kinetic energy; and that was why the ship had so quietly settled to the earth-- he had redirected all that energy into his belt. This man had been biding his time, finding opportunities to gather as much power as he could. And now the full force of a crashing airship was bound around the kineticist's waist, eager to be released from its unnatural bonds.
The Center of the Festival Grounds
The two wraiths crumpled and writhed in agony as their souls departed yet again, their forms rent open by Lyra's blade. As for the mageslayer, some instinct or enchantment, must have warned him of the attack as he struggled free of his winged carriers, but too slow. As he twisted and fell the few feet back to the ground, the knife stuck in his left shoulder. With a grunt, he yanked it free and slapped an intricately patterned handkerchief over the wound that adhered to his skin and amplified the repair process, but wasn't likely to save him in a fight this razor close.
He flung his sword at her in retaliation and advanced in its wake, 4 wraiths at his back and spreading out. A fraction of a second before the sword came within parry range, the mageslayer flung out a hand. Two things happened simultaneously. The sword halted mid-air and then reversed course, retracing its path and hopefully throwing Lyra off balance; and a knife was launched from the mageslayer's outstretched hand, passing alongside the sword like a football substitute eager to take the field.
Now alone, the necromancer summoned his book for a more powerful spell. It lingered in the air and flipped to the page he desired, but a sound caught his ear, like footsteps on the soft earth. He pulled his book aside to reveal a wolf of shadow leaping to tear him down. Instinctually, he swatted at the beast with the book, but it was to no effect. A surprised shout was the last sound he ever made. As the wolf tackled him to the ground, a small glass object fell from his hand. Whatever it held was clear until it struck the ground; suddenly it became red and cloudy, some process initiated by the jolt given it by the fall.
A window on the third story of the school shattered as a body was flung through it, and a much smaller body leaped out after it. A second kineticist crumpled on the ground, dead or unconscious. Aurus landed beside his victim and glared out from beneath a freshly dented helm. The flash of swords immediately caught his keen warrior's eyes and he sprinted forward to aid Lyra in her contest.
At the Edge of the Wilderwood
As Miyuki cloistered herself, the elementalist felt emboldened and unleashed a torrent of flame-- which was immediately cut short as the fire was drawn away by an otherworldly command. She could do little more than shout as her power was stolen away and she plummeted toward unyielding earth. She caught herself at the last moment with a cushion of air. Not her strongest suit, but it served in a pinch. Fury blossomed in her chest. She was sick of always being on the back foot in this fight! She spun to face the dragon, knapped a surfboard-sized chunk off the earth, and blasted it at the dragon before launching herself in the air. Wind was her weakest, but even her weakest was sufficient for combat with members of the menagerie. Whether her weaker elements were sufficient for winning would soon be revealed.
The mage water splashed over the arcanist's shield, causing it to fizzle like a bug zapper under constant assault. Much like the bug zapper, the arcanist won out, but some of his power was sapped. Not much, given his full potential, but in a fight against this many opponents, every ounce mattered. Which is why once the rains had dissipated, he refocused the shield into disk about as wide across as a man to catch the lance of heat thrown his way. The shield broke, but the fire dissipated before he could even feel its malevolent heat.
Making more rapid assessments, he was concerned they may have to order a retreat. While they had succeeded in many measures, they had also lost several mages. Then the ground beneath him roiled and softened. Real concern finally beset him, and he probed the space beneath him for the cause.
Yes, it was time. "Abscond!" The order was repeated directly into the minds of all the attackers, as the sound and size of the battle was far too great for any one voice to reach every ear. Slowly, the arcanist began to give ground, but retained his leash on the dragon and pulled on her mana in much the way it had stolen the elementalist's fire. He would need every ounce to extract himself and the rest of his team alive.
In Skarnir's mind, the order was absolute. He would withdraw, even though there was still glory to be won. It sickened the silent part of him, but there was nothing he could do. I could fight! that small part of his mind declared, but not yet- it was still small. And so he fired a final volley at Auril-- Miyuki!-- before backstepping toward the forest. His foot caught and he stumbled. Suddenly both feet were locked in place and something bit into his calves. Ancient warrior's instincts dropped the bow and drew a blade to hack downward at the encroaching foliage. But he was a mortal trellis for this angry sprout, greedily climbing and binding him until he could no longer move his limbs. This is not a warrior's death... the small part of his mind complained, but he was not dead. Not yet.
In the Cottage
The lone thief froze at the base of the stairwell, staring up at the magical guard dog. No one told her there was a guard dog. Was it an illusion? These were powerful mages they were robbing, after all. Better to play it safe. She turned and bolted for the door.
Professor Caxton did indeed catch his fledgling student. Tanuki's feral grin went unwitnessed, tucked as she was behind the shield. Their landing jarred the Japanese weaver, but caused no harm. The lightning barely marred the Vialshield.
The AXETONNE's retaliatory strike was anticipated. The dark-winged warlock had taken her barbed heart pendant in hand a second time and continued her aggressive descent. The Violent Heart glowed faintly for a moment before she released it. Her skin darkened rapidly to maroon as she plunged into the flames. The heat gave her new form a burnished glow, but did no harm. In fact, her skin seemed to drink up the tongues of flame greedily, and the flamethrower dried up faster than it ought to. The warlock's smile was garish and menacing, her staff pointed at the AXETONNE's head. A glistening blast of frost energy exploded from the gem atop the staff.
Tanuki, sensing danger and knowing she would only get in Professor Caxton's way, slipped free of the alchemecha. As she was running away, trying to put the professor between her and the plummeting airship, she saw a glint in the grass and stumbled to a halt. When she stood again, she held Percival's alchemical revolver in two hands and was aiming it up at the warlock with an adult intensity in her eyes.
Less than a hundred yards away, the shadow-wraith that held Mealla's soul turned toward her old body, ready for combat. The body collapsed, limp and utterly lifeless. Having misread Riley's intentions, the necromancer had cut his losses and relinquished his control, considering a struggle for the body to be unworthy of the effort. From the nearby row of wrecked stalls, Brenya Lilibloom's corpse came into view, two winged wraiths hovering above and behind. She had been given simple instructions by her master: harass, but survive. She pointed and the wraiths advanced on Mealla.
Luckily for all, the Everlasting was plummeting toward unoccupied space. The dark-skinned mage still clung to the stern, as if he honestly expected to defy all laws of physics and catch it on his back. He disappeared from view behind the wreckage of festival stalls, and the airship struck the earth.
It was like closing your eyes when you see the dodgeball hurtling toward your face, and then never getting hit. The earth didn't quake, or rumble. It didn't even quiver. Slowly, as though it were being set aside by a giant, the Everlasting was tipped onto its side, crushing several stalls but otherwise causing minimal damage. Still, the earth did not so much as sigh.
And then it did. A single boom, like a jet blasting through the sound barrier rocked the school grounds-- and that wasn't far from the truth. The shirtless mage was hurtling through the air like a supersonic artillery shell, little more than a blur. At this speed, Caxton couldn't see him, but the AXETONNE's wards were sufficient to detect the approach, but their interpretation was lacking: MUNDANE MUNITION IMMINENT. Percival had just enough time to hear the warning, glance up at the rapidly growing indicator and see the placid face of the man, his brightly glowing belt, and one arm cocked back for a haymaker.
He finally recognized in that instant that this man was a kineticist: a mage capable of using mana to capture, store, and redirect physical energies. That was why this strange martial artist was wearing a carbon fiber belt studded with tungsten-- they could endure incredible wear and tear; that was why the belt glowed with incredible intensity-- those tungsten studs and even the carbon fibers were containing immense kinetic energy; and that was why the ship had so quietly settled to the earth-- he had redirected all that energy into his belt. This man had been biding his time, finding opportunities to gather as much power as he could. And now the full force of a crashing airship was bound around the kineticist's waist, eager to be released from its unnatural bonds.
The Center of the Festival Grounds
The two wraiths crumpled and writhed in agony as their souls departed yet again, their forms rent open by Lyra's blade. As for the mageslayer, some instinct or enchantment, must have warned him of the attack as he struggled free of his winged carriers, but too slow. As he twisted and fell the few feet back to the ground, the knife stuck in his left shoulder. With a grunt, he yanked it free and slapped an intricately patterned handkerchief over the wound that adhered to his skin and amplified the repair process, but wasn't likely to save him in a fight this razor close.
He flung his sword at her in retaliation and advanced in its wake, 4 wraiths at his back and spreading out. A fraction of a second before the sword came within parry range, the mageslayer flung out a hand. Two things happened simultaneously. The sword halted mid-air and then reversed course, retracing its path and hopefully throwing Lyra off balance; and a knife was launched from the mageslayer's outstretched hand, passing alongside the sword like a football substitute eager to take the field.
Now alone, the necromancer summoned his book for a more powerful spell. It lingered in the air and flipped to the page he desired, but a sound caught his ear, like footsteps on the soft earth. He pulled his book aside to reveal a wolf of shadow leaping to tear him down. Instinctually, he swatted at the beast with the book, but it was to no effect. A surprised shout was the last sound he ever made. As the wolf tackled him to the ground, a small glass object fell from his hand. Whatever it held was clear until it struck the ground; suddenly it became red and cloudy, some process initiated by the jolt given it by the fall.
A window on the third story of the school shattered as a body was flung through it, and a much smaller body leaped out after it. A second kineticist crumpled on the ground, dead or unconscious. Aurus landed beside his victim and glared out from beneath a freshly dented helm. The flash of swords immediately caught his keen warrior's eyes and he sprinted forward to aid Lyra in her contest.
At the Edge of the Wilderwood
As Miyuki cloistered herself, the elementalist felt emboldened and unleashed a torrent of flame-- which was immediately cut short as the fire was drawn away by an otherworldly command. She could do little more than shout as her power was stolen away and she plummeted toward unyielding earth. She caught herself at the last moment with a cushion of air. Not her strongest suit, but it served in a pinch. Fury blossomed in her chest. She was sick of always being on the back foot in this fight! She spun to face the dragon, knapped a surfboard-sized chunk off the earth, and blasted it at the dragon before launching herself in the air. Wind was her weakest, but even her weakest was sufficient for combat with members of the menagerie. Whether her weaker elements were sufficient for winning would soon be revealed.
The mage water splashed over the arcanist's shield, causing it to fizzle like a bug zapper under constant assault. Much like the bug zapper, the arcanist won out, but some of his power was sapped. Not much, given his full potential, but in a fight against this many opponents, every ounce mattered. Which is why once the rains had dissipated, he refocused the shield into disk about as wide across as a man to catch the lance of heat thrown his way. The shield broke, but the fire dissipated before he could even feel its malevolent heat.
Making more rapid assessments, he was concerned they may have to order a retreat. While they had succeeded in many measures, they had also lost several mages. Then the ground beneath him roiled and softened. Real concern finally beset him, and he probed the space beneath him for the cause.
Yes, it was time. "Abscond!" The order was repeated directly into the minds of all the attackers, as the sound and size of the battle was far too great for any one voice to reach every ear. Slowly, the arcanist began to give ground, but retained his leash on the dragon and pulled on her mana in much the way it had stolen the elementalist's fire. He would need every ounce to extract himself and the rest of his team alive.
In Skarnir's mind, the order was absolute. He would withdraw, even though there was still glory to be won. It sickened the silent part of him, but there was nothing he could do. I could fight! that small part of his mind declared, but not yet- it was still small. And so he fired a final volley at Auril-- Miyuki!-- before backstepping toward the forest. His foot caught and he stumbled. Suddenly both feet were locked in place and something bit into his calves. Ancient warrior's instincts dropped the bow and drew a blade to hack downward at the encroaching foliage. But he was a mortal trellis for this angry sprout, greedily climbing and binding him until he could no longer move his limbs. This is not a warrior's death... the small part of his mind complained, but he was not dead. Not yet.
In the Cottage
The lone thief froze at the base of the stairwell, staring up at the magical guard dog. No one told her there was a guard dog. Was it an illusion? These were powerful mages they were robbing, after all. Better to play it safe. She turned and bolted for the door.
Re: Chapter 2.1: The Siege of Safeholme
"Another strike against the dragonsbreath," bemoaned Percival, watching the stream of charged flamethrower fuel go to waste. Moreover, the dial for the liquid was shrinking rapidly, and so the feed was cut. The AXETONNE joined its chemical thrower behind the shield to cycle to another alchemical fuel.
A steady hiss indicated that the Vialshield's shock absorption pistons were still bleeding pressure. Prototypes were like that, unknown even to the hands of the pilot, made worse by the fact that he was a scientist foremost. He needed to get more out of the shield. Eryl had gave him some advice on the subject once, counseling him on the use of kinetic barriers. He would need it, the warlock was sending down another volley.
What was it? He tried to bubble up the memory among the fog of their recent interactions.
It was too late, the frost would strike before he could put the shield to better use. The frame would just need to absorb the blast, so Percival raised the shield, and as it connected, Eryl's words rang in his mind along with the shuddering pressure in the cockpit.
Let's see what trick you have for this on–
BOOM.
"MUNDANE MUNITION IMINENT," blared the hoarse voice of an artificed spirit. Percy's attention had barely been on the ship, and he cursed himself for forgetting it. The frightening realization of the kind of magic he was up against chilled his blood. He hadn't accounted for being shot at by a human bullet.
The AXETONNE did the only thing it had time for, it angled its shield so that the kineticist would be hitting it at forty-five degree angle. That, and let out a blast of Jailor's Haze at its feet, a sparking cloud of paralytic sleep gas jetting out of the wide nozzle.
A steady hiss indicated that the Vialshield's shock absorption pistons were still bleeding pressure. Prototypes were like that, unknown even to the hands of the pilot, made worse by the fact that he was a scientist foremost. He needed to get more out of the shield. Eryl had gave him some advice on the subject once, counseling him on the use of kinetic barriers. He would need it, the warlock was sending down another volley.
What was it? He tried to bubble up the memory among the fog of their recent interactions.
Not helpful."Blah blah blah blah blah blah Jane."
Worse."Blah blah blah blah blah blah horses."
This had to be a sign of stress."Blah blah blah blah blah blah Jane and horses."
It was too late, the frost would strike before he could put the shield to better use. The frame would just need to absorb the blast, so Percival raised the shield, and as it connected, Eryl's words rang in his mind along with the shuddering pressure in the cockpit.
The AXETONNE shuddered, but it was a lesson learned. Recovering, Percival loaded the next chemical agent, a pressured mix of shockweed and Pascard's lily. If he couldn't burn them out, then he would settle for the paralytic and soporific effect of a potion he called Jailor's Haze. The chemical thrower clicked and whirred as it changed to accomodate a gaseous feed."Abjuration is doing more with less. The other mage is putting as much power into their spells as you are, so an abjurer must shape their shields. To angle your barriers makes them more effective, and curtails the other natural forces and factors acting against them."
Let's see what trick you have for this on–
BOOM.
"MUNDANE MUNITION IMINENT," blared the hoarse voice of an artificed spirit. Percy's attention had barely been on the ship, and he cursed himself for forgetting it. The frightening realization of the kind of magic he was up against chilled his blood. He hadn't accounted for being shot at by a human bullet.
The AXETONNE did the only thing it had time for, it angled its shield so that the kineticist would be hitting it at forty-five degree angle. That, and let out a blast of Jailor's Haze at its feet, a sparking cloud of paralytic sleep gas jetting out of the wide nozzle.