Aonar

Azrael stood on the balcony, listening. Slowly, the sounds of battle began to filter in. There. They should be about halfway by now, if we can hear them. He nodded to Nightshade. It’s time. A great ram made of shadow began to gather before the balcony door. With a gesture, he sent it crashing through, into the room inside. “Lights out, Midnight.” The Epic stepped inside, and instantly, the room went dark. Azrael touched the surface of the roiling darkness, and teleported to what he assumed was the centre of the room. Let there be light. The shadow dissipated, revealing the room’s contents. It was lavishly decorated, as befitting an Epic of Overwatch’s stature. A few servants stood about the room, petrified, unsure of what to do. Overwatch himself sat in a simple throne at the end of the room, leaning back; relaxed, bored, contemptuous. He looked kingly, silver-haired but well-muscled despite obvious age. “And who might you be?” He gave a little bow. “I am known as Azrael.” Overwatch raised an eyebrow. “Azrael, the archangel of death, the taker of souls... You think rather highly of yourself, don’t you?” “So one would imagine,” Azrael said, tilting his head in acquiescence. “You cannot deny the name a certain elegance, however.” “Perhaps. Let us dispense with this idle chatter. I know that your fellows are fighting their way through my tower. They’re doing an admirable job. It won’t be enough.” Azrael shrugged. “I would not discount them so quickly, but you have come to the root of the issue. I seek to make a proposition, Overwatch. Rather than allow our servants to fight, and to die, leaving us both weakened, why not settle this here and now, like gentlemen?” “A duel?” He gave single, barking laugh. “If you insist.” Overwatch stood and stepped down from his throne. “One condition. I like to see the faces of my prey before I kill them.” A wolfish grin broke out over his face. Bowing his head, Azrael reached up towards his hood. “I accept your conditions.” As his fingers touched the dark fabric, it dissolved into a cloud of shadow. He stepped forwards as the darkness dispersed, revealing himself. The cloak was gone, replaced by a well-cut shirt and tie of the same pitch black colour. He was tall, thin and fine featured, with jet black hair; appearing far younger than he should. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, revealing dozens of dark lines twining around his forearms like some complex tattoo. Overwatch blinked, his smile slipping for a moment. “A boy. A boy threatens to topple my empire.” Boy? That’s a little harsh. I can’t look that young. He shook his head. “The world has quite the sense of humour, sometimes.” The Epic rose into the air a few inches, energy crackling around his fingertips. “Let us get this over with.” Azrael stretched out a hand, darkness pooling across the ground, reaching up towards his fingers. It slowly formed into a rapier, each detail perfectly rendered by the shadow. It was a replica of one he’d seen a long time ago, in a museum. He swung it lightly, checking the balance. Nodding, satisfied, Azrael raised it in mock salute to Overwatch, then lowered it into a basic guard. The Epic smirked, looking amused. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you never to bring a knife to a gunfight, boy?” He flicked his fingers towards Azrael, and glowing bolt of power leapt from his hands. The dark sword flashed downwards, almost too fast for the eye to follow, deflecting the bolt down towards the floor. It sizzled into the carpet, as Overwatch went still, shocked. “Sparks.” Smirking, Azrael stalked forwards, blade at the ready. More bolts came, as Overwatch was spurred into action again. Azrael calmly batted each one away, his weapon blurring as it moved ever faster through the air. He slowed, unable to move forwards under the increasing onslaught. Overwatch pressed his advantage, floating closer. For a moment, the were held in perfect equilibrium, energy crackling in all directions. Then Azrael slipped; his sword just a fraction of an instant too slow. The bolt caught him in the stomach. He curled around it, staggering as it drove the air from his lungs. Then he drew himself up straight again, smiling all the more broadly. Seeing Overwatch’s confusion, Azrael began to laugh. “Honestly, did you think I would start a fight I thought I could lose?” He lazily swept his sword through the air, razor sharp shards of darkness rolling off the blade. They flew forwards, before embedding themselves in something a few feet Overwatch’s face. Prismatic cracks spread across the space in front of the Epic. A shielding power? Unfortunate. I could just brute-force it… Azrael walked forwards again, now ignoring the bolts striking him. They burned for an instant against his skin, then went out, without leaving a mark. He stopped just short of the barrier, then tapped lightly against it, mouthing two words. Behind you. Overwatch narrowed his eyes, and stole a quick glance over his shoulder. Then he stopped and turned, slowly. Something was rising from his shadow. A crude caricature of Overwatch himself, warped, twisted and misshapen; limbs replaced by dozens of writhing tentacles, and mouth opening impossibly large, with multiple rows of broken teeth. He tried to step backwards, tried to flee, but the abomination’s many limbs took hold of him, burrowing into his flesh. The Epic’s screams were cut short as the construct’s maw engulfed him. Completely concealed by darkness, wet cracks emanated from the spot where Overwatch used to be. Azrael waved his hand, and the shadow fled. All that remained of Overwatch was bloody pile of meat and shattered bone. He looked to Overwatch’s vanilla servants, who had pressed themselves as close to the wall as possible. “Would any of you be so kind as to clean this up? I can’t have this garbage dirtying my throne room.” All but one ran screaming from the room. Sighing, he encapsulated the mess in darkness, and flung it out the door, off the balcony. Nightshade and Midnight cautiously stepped into the room, avoiding the bloodsoaked carpet near his feet. Azrael sat down in his new throne, calling his cloak around him again. A knock came from the door to the stairs. “Ah. That’ll be the rest of them, then.” Turning towards the one remaining vanilla, he decided to try his luck again. “Any chance you’d be willing to open the door for me?” She promptly fainted. Rolling his eyes, he sent a tendril of shadow to open the door. Twilight, Darkquake, Vires and Eclipse filtered in. “Report please, Twilight.” While Twilight Spark’s cold, almost nihilistic objectivity was more than a little disconcerting, it also made her the best choice for getting an unbiased report. “Less than half-dozen minor Epics were encountered on the stairs and only a few vanilla guards; either this was only a relatively weak faction within the city, or most inhabitants of this area have left for one reason or another. They, along with the servants who ran out of the room a few minutes ago have been dealt with.” Her syllables were clipped and precise, each word unhurried and perfectly enunciated, albeit monotone. It was a little creepy, if Azrael was being honest with himself. The Epic was nearly as inhuman as the constructs she created. “Given this location’s position relative to the town, and the possibility of exposure to other organized forces, it would be best if we could establish defenses immediately. However, the unusual blue light observed in the sky is fading rapidly, and none of use with the capacity to erect large-scale barriers are capable of doing so without definite shadows. Given the circumstances, I would recommend creating a temporary barrier enclosing the tower, and appointing a rotation to ensure no attack is made while our guard is down.” Could have figured that much out for myself, thanks. “That sounds reasonable,” Azrael said, trying and failing to keep the annoyance out of his voice. He clicked his fingers, and darkness started to flow like tar from beneath his feet, spreading out and coating the surface of the tower. He stood silent for a moment, brow furrowed in concentration under the shadow of his cowl. Fine mesh screens fitted themselves over the windows and doors, stronger and thinner than any steel. “I will watch for now. I have little need of sleep, anyways.” He looked up at the still assembled Epics. “I assume most of you know your duties tomorrow? Nightshade will take care of living quarters, and interrogating the Epics that have been captured. Eclipse, Darkquake and Vires will arrange for more permanent defenses. Twilight and Midnight will help me in beginning to expand our holdings. Is that agreeable?” Brief nods and the odd, “yes, m’lord,” from the more ingratiating Epics showed their assent. Without a word, he turned and walked back out on to the balcony, the screen he had woven parting and reforming behind him.

(Not going to bother quoting, but on the topic of days ending:) Like Maill said, all I've got left in the Dalles is a post or two of Frostfire/Edgerunner, and maybe introducing Mirrorveil to Frequency/one of the new Epics. (Although this could just as easily come in the morning.) Kipper, Tulir and I have come to a decision on Azrael, Vires, Nightshade and Co, and we're just going to skip the current scene. (For now, anyways.) I'll post the Overwatch fight scene sometime today or tomorrow, with something to establish where they'll all be when the morning comes, and then we should be good for whatever happens.

Nathanael was standing at the back of the crowd when Patriarch Seinalan collapsed. Despite the glasses that he wore, his eyesight was more than good enough to pick out the sigil carving itself into the man's chest. Tasting vomit in the back of his mouth, he tried to analyze the situation dispassionately. Despite the chaos that had broken out with the Patriarch's apparent death, Nathanael had still managed to see enough of the symbol to assume that it was likely Old Duladen, or maybe Fjordell. Given the context, and what little of the Patriarch's announcement had been heard, Duladen seemed more likely. Most assumed the Mysteries to be nothing more than a backwater cult, but he'd long suspected otherwise. From his studies at the university, he'd learned that almost every nation had some magic of it's own. Some were well known, like Arelon's own Elantrians, or MaiPon's Forgers, but there were hints of others all across Opelon. Jindoneese warriors applying impossible strength, Fjordell monks harnessing dark rituals; who was to say that the Jeskeri didn't have a bit of real power? Discussion broke out almost immediately, even before the Patriarch's body was dragged away. Merciful Domi. Practical, given the circumstances, but can't they show just a shred of respect? Looking around, he caught a glare from one of the cleaning staff. The man's gaze didn't waver, even as Nathanael started to push his way through the crowd. He shivered slightly. Creepy blighter. The guards had locked them all in the palace, and while that was annoying, and a touch illogical, it did confer a few benefits. For one, the Patriarch's body couldn't be removed if no one could enter or leave to take it. If there was one thing Nathanael was sure of, it was that he wanted to get a look at that body. As he shouldered his way through the crowd, picking out random threads of conversations. A large group was discussing the possibility of the Derethi capitalizing upon the confusion of Patriarch's death to forcibly convert Arelon. Hmm... that's a valid concern. One could argue that people who kill, as opposed to merely changing one's religious views, are more dangerous, but one would destroy Arelon as surely as the other. Another, smaller group discussed the danger of cooping up a bunch of scared and desperate people. People were going to start doing stupid things eventually, and stupid things had a tendency to lead to stupider things, which eventually lead to people ending up dead. As Nathanael saw it, there wasn't much to be done. It was the nature of things for people to lash out when threatened, and for all the harm it could cause, it could sometimes be just what was needed to find the truth. He'd seen it more times than times than he would've liked, although the idea still made him nauseous. Leaving the main hall, he quickly caught up with the guards carrying off Seinalan's body. "What do you plan to do with the Patriarch?" The guards turned, surprised. "He's to be buried on the grounds somewhere. It's the best we can give him, given the situation." "Well you're going to have to wait. He needs an autopsy. We need to know exactly what killed him." One of the guards raised a hand to the Korathi pendant around his neck, looking grim. "We already know what did it. Magic." "Maybe, maybe not. Sometimes the mundane can be made to look supernatural, and sometimes the magical looks everyday. I can tell the difference." They looked hesitant. Nathanael kept speaking, trying to be persuasive. "You can trust me. I'm a doctor. Certified in Seraven and everything." Not a medical doctor, but what's the difference, right? Reluctantly, they agreed. "Alright. I'll need a clean, preferably cool work-space, a few candles, several sharp knives, a small saw, and some hedge-clippers, if you can spare them." -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- In case you can't tell, I'm advocating moderation here. Both the Gyorn and the Cultists are dangerous, albeit in different ways. A couple good points have already been made about how to hamstring the Gyorn, but beyond that, we'll just have to deal with things as they come, and there's little point to discussing the merits of focusing on one or the other. This does make me vaguely suspicious of Orlock, but I can understand how the Gyorn could seem less immediately threatening then the Cultists, so I'll give him a pass for now. Alvron is currently suspicious to me on principle, as is everyone else advocating a lack of a day one lynch, whatever their reasoning. While in this game a lynch can be more dangerous than usual, so can any other kill. Also, as the Dula/Pirates have no idea of the roles of others, we are equally likely to do help as harm to ourselves. It's basically a small chance to add another random kill on top of the others made; it must be taken into account, but it cannot be taken as reasoning for or against lynching. Mek is also suspicious, even though he takes a stance I for the most part agree with. It's how he's going about it that is what's striking an off note. There's honest vehemence there. It could just be frustration at being misunderstood over what seems a simple issue, and it could have to do with the fact he's strongly implied that he's a debtor. Or it could be both. However, he might be on the defensive for darker reasons, as well. And that's my two cents. Sorry. I've been out of town most of the weekend, and haven't had the chance to get in to this game. It might take a while, as I'm going to be busy for a couple weeks. I don't feel confident enough to put a vote on any of the three above, so I'll leave things in that regard as they are.

The game is over, you guys (the villagers) have won, (congratulations, by the way ) and Newan's just working on the final write up. (Figured it should be left to him, as this is his game.) It's just taken a little longer than expected. (Like everything in this game so far. ) (Sorry, meant to get to this earlier, but I was at school when I saw it, and forgot when I arrived home.)

It's all good. It probably wouldn't quite have made sense for him to be fighting in town anyways, as at this point the Dalles is mostly secure again (the only active fight-scene is confined to an area external to the city) if I understand the situation correctly. If a small group of pandas tried to take a short cut through town, they'd probably just get shot. I wouldn't have minded you borrowing the pandas/hostages from the convoy though, as I really had no plan for them past the potential motivation for Ethan to overuse his powers and give in to his corruption. A random question for Comatose: If/when Frostfire and Taylor meet, how ticked would she be if Ethan tells her he liked her better when she did country music?

Maill brought up the point about hostages, but that might not be important. The Panda doesn't keep vanillas around for long. It's highly possible that the pandas Crush killed were the hostages from the convoy.

I think we all know where this is going. What if there are three Dula, and they arrange their powers like this: Dula A makes X and Z Lovers. Dula B makes X and Y Lovers. Dula C makes Y and Z Lovers. Would they all die then?

He can do both, but he always exacts payment in the form of a secondary contract between himself and whoever approached him for his services. He does nothing out of the goodness of his heart. (He is an Epic, after all.) Basically, every time Rainmaker asks him to forge a contract between someone and a troublesome Epic, he's going to include a clause somewhere exacting some toll for his services. However, since his powers can only affect those that actually sign/vocalize direct agreement to the contract, except in special situations, he's going to try and avoid dealing with proxies. (IE, the bigger the request, the higher up the person signing will have to be, up to Queens, or even Rainmaker herself, for a big enough favour.) He would, most definitely. A long term agreement for his services will likely limit what he's able to get away with in each individual contract, but it would also give him a greater hold over the government and Rainmaker herself. So that's primarily up to you, as Rainmaker's writer. Witness will do his thing either way, but Rainmaker would have to weigh up the risks and benefits of both options.

Hmm... Witness wouldn't be too happy with the use of proxies. If those proxies happened to be Epics with useful powers, he wouldn't mind, but he's most likely refuse to deal with a vanilla or weak Epic on Rainmaker's behalf. Fairness? Witness does not understand what this word means. If he's dealing with an equal, he's going to make the contract as appealing as possible, (IE, more fair) but if he can rob you blind with loopholes, he will. A favour or offer directly from Rainmaker herself would be very valuable, yes. There aren't many things he would refuse to do for something like that. A favour from a random vanilla isn't worth his time. Undying servitude, maybe, a favour, no. I guess you could say that fairness does come into play, but more in the sense of what equal parties would be willing to agree to, as there is no concept of equal exchange inherent in his power. It merely binds two people/parties to their word. So long as something is lost and something is gained, it works.

The way I'm thinking of him, he'd be more of a last-resort option. Someone to be dealt with only grudgingly, when there are few alternatives. Which seems to be the way Corvallis is heading, at the moment. (And of course, if Witness became a part of the story, he would do his part to push things to that point as well.) Not necessarily because he's hard to work with, (the Affably Evil trope would no doubt fit him to a tee) but rather because you know you'll always end up on the worse end of the deal. As a Gifter, he would love that contract, as stated. (He's going to weasel out of it somehow, regardless, but that particular statement, no matter how well refined, would be easy for him to get around.) The way his powers work, he couldn't instantly kill someone if they had a PI, or actually remove their abilities, but he could force them into a coma, or bind them to not use their powers. (His contracts let him control the parties involved, not warp reality.) Maybe not visit other cities, per se, but he'll be certain to keep abreast of important events going on elsewhere in Oregon. (He has agents and emissaries in several locations of import, although they won't have made themselves known.) That could work, although I like the idea of a sort of service-broker character. ...Of course, it could be interesting as well if he's just an observer, waiting, watching and subtly manipulating events until the time is right to strike a deal. (In which case I'd probably RP primarily as one of his bound servants, as they'd be capable of getting involved more.)

Oh trust me, she wouldn't want to do that. The price would be far too high, assuming she values her life and control of her city.

I was contemplating not signing up for this, (or maybe signing up as a pinch hitter) as the school year is wrapping up and the Twinborn game just finished (don't worry, it will end officially soon, Newan is just working on the final write-up) but I think I might have to. There's too many interesting possibilities. (*Prays to the RNGods to be the Dula* ) A name, a name.... Hmm... How about Nathanael? (Four possible Aons, although only one is given a meaning in canon.) That seems like a good one. An Arelon native, he's spent the last several years in Seraven, studying at the university and picking up a hint of an accent. With tensions rising between Fjorden and Arelon over the Duladel Revolution however, he's decided to return home.* Tall, thin, pale and bespectacled, he looks very much the part of a scholar, although the greatcoat and rapier that have become a part of his attire during his travels sit very much at odds with the rest of him. I would RP properly, but I don't know yet whether I'll be an Elantrian or a regular, so I don't want to dig myself into a hole, RP wise. *(I figure this is feasible, as Patriarch Seinalan was instated sometime shortly before the Duladel Revolution, if I remember correctly, in response to the appointment of the new Wyrn.) Then you know your duty: troll Wilson.

Therein lies the problem. Nobody forces the Metal to do anything. He'd need to get something out of the contract appealing enough to convince him not to read the fine print.

His teleportation could always be expanded into a full PI. ....I'm not really sure how the ability to forge unbreakable contracts between people could stop the Astorian government, though.

There's an Epic I've been thinking about making a part of the Corvallis government. (Sort of. He'd be better described as an 'interested third party.' As such he might float around a little between the cities. And he's more than likely to play both sides of the conflict, as well.) Accord/Witness: (Haven't quite decided yet.) Do you think he could work/add an interesting element to the overall storyline, Comatose?

Part Five of Six of a collaboration between Mailliw and I. Emma covered the ground between them, almost breaking out into a run. "I'm coming with you Ethan, but wait. You can't go and kill all the pandas; they'll overwhelm you. They have armies of every kind of animal you can imagine." Frostfire snorted. Overwhelm him? It wouldn't matter how many beasts there were. They would all die just as easily. It would just take a little longer. "You're strong, but not perfect." He stopped, still determinedly facing away. No one ever said I was, Emma. 'Perfect' couldn't be further from the truth. She continued speaking, an anxious urgency in her voice, almost pleading. "Let's go back to the Dalles and get a drink. We can have a nice meal and a good place to sleep." Ethan's mind briefly stopped working. What?! He turned back towards her, blinking uncomprehendingly. She wants to... I've only just met her... she is rather pretty... "I mean, you'll have a good place to sleep and so will I. Separate places." Oh. He shook his head, trying to clear it. Mind out of the gutter, Ethan. More important things to be thinking about. Emma was blushing furiously, thinking of what she'd implied. Sparks, she looks cute like that... Get out and stay out, Ethan. "Please, Ethan. Let's go back. We can worry about the pandas later when we have the city's resources to back us up." No. Not everyone was killed outright. I won't have them weighing on my conscience too. Ethan found the anger that had driven him fading fast, however; a flame starving from lack of fuel. He sighed, slumping as he tried to order his thoughts. "I can't. There are still survivors. Failing again... failing them again..." He trailed off, unsure of where he was going. "I've already been down that road too many times. Things need to change." Ethan seemed to be shocked out of his drive for vengeance from her accidentally awkward phrase. It wasn't what she had planned but it seemed to be starting to work. The fight was draining out of Ethan as she spoke. He stopped and seemed to shrink a couple inches, morphing back from an Epic to a regular guy. "I can't. There are still survivors. Failing again... failing them again...I've already been down that road too many times. Things need to change," he said. "Yes, they do. But will it be worth your soul?" Emma asked. "The more you use your powers, the crueler you are. If you have to destroy a huge army of animals, you'll end up so evil, you'll probably kill all those survivors." Emma said, getting a bit quieter. She knew what it was like. The drive to use the power and the rage that followed. Her biggest regrets in life were from that day. The day she became an Epic. The day she took matters with Ty into her own hands. The day Evey died. Ty had deserved it, but Evelyn sure hadn't. "Trust me, Ethan. Please don't do it. Mayor Vondra can help. If he knows there's survivors, he'll send soldiers and helicopters with us. We'll save them. Please don't go." Emma shed a tear. A tear for Evelyn. “Yes, they do. But will it be worth your soul?” Any soul for mine is a fair trade. My soul doesn’t seem to be worth much, nowadays. But Ethan said nothing, so Emma kept right on. “The more you use your powers, the crueler you are. If you have to destroy a huge army of animals, you’ll end up so evil you’ll probably kill all those survivors.” She had quieted as she spoke, seeming to remember some experience of her own. So what? What does it really matter? If I’m going to fail them either way, why not make the effort? He knew on some level that Emma was right, that pursuing this would just make things worse, but it felt so wrong. He’d been so helpless before, unable do anything, incapable of protecting anyone. Not even Hailey… Now that he was an Epic, it was his responsibility – no, his duty – to protect those around him. Emma was still speaking, although her words registered only superficially to Ethan, his mind elsewhere. “Trust me, Ethan. Please don’t do it. Mayor Vondra can help. If he knows there’s survivors, he’ll send soldiers and helicopters with us. We’ll save them. Please don’t go.” What about those people in the clinic, Ethan? What about Emma? She was there too. You were about to kill them, kill them all, kill her, just because of one slontze and an impolitic comment. Is that what you call protecting? You need to step back. You’re too angry. You’re being driven to do things you never would, and you can’t even rationalize it. A single tear rolled down Emma’s face, and something in Ethan broke. Maybe he couldn’t save everyone, but there was someone he could help, and she was right in front of him. He stepped forwards and hugged her. He expected it to be awkward, but somehow it wasn’t. “Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.”

Fine by me. I don't have any real plans for him beyond, "extremely creep slontze," so feel free.

No, although Timelock is quite similar to Kronos, and Hypno fulfills basically the same function as Smoothtalker. The others were: Link to original list.

Day Eight: Destruction Lord Pifferluke the Third held his aluminum war-hammer casually, whistling a simple tune as he walked. He’d carried this thing around for almost a week, and while it wasn’t exactly heavy, it was nice to be able to put his burden to actual use. His target wasn’t far. A claimed pewter ferring, but still no match for the Hazecrusher’s might. Acer was sleeping when Pifferluke found him. Aw, this is too easy. He kicked Acer in the ribs, giving him a rude awakening. The other man instantly tapped enough strength to look more like a mountain than a man. Better. Pifferluke jumped backwards, swinging the Hazecrusher. It connected solidly with the Brute’s head, leaving a sizeable indentation. Acer staggered for a moment, then collapsed and went still. After wiping the Hazecrusher off on Acer’s shirt, Pifferluke started searching for spikes. Nada. Rust. I just killed a man for nothing. Unfortunately, Pifferluke didn’t get much time to ruminate upon his breach of morality. The groan of wooden support columns was his only warning before everything went black. ---------------------------------- As the rumbling faded, a pair of figures staggered out from the Town Square’s wreckage, barely conscious. Kirrah and Ostrich were the only survivors. -------------------------- Bortington was hiding. He felt like a coward, but what was he supposed to do? He’d seen and heard the destruction the spiked had wreaked in the square. He most definitely didn’t want to be next. Of course, hiding meant finding somewhere out of the way. Somewhere dark. So dark, in fact, that he didn’t even see the spike that plunged into his chest. ---------------------------- A killer stalked through the tunnels, looking for a suitable target. Someone stood alone in one of the rooms, intense concentration written on their face. Works for me. Let’s level the playing field a little, shall we? Raising a crude metal spike, the hemalurgist plunged it towards their victim. As soon as they did so, it leapt out of their hands, embedding itself harmlessly into the wall. Rust. “Good try, but not good enough.” The would-be victim tore the spike out of the wall, brandishing it at their attacker. “How about a taste of your own medicine?” The would-be murderer fled off into the night, sprinting as fast as their legs would take them. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Room B2 has been destroyed! Acer Tuy has died! He was a Twinborn with Allomantic copper and Feruchemical pewter! Edrab Leah Heatherlocke has died! He was a Kandra with a Blessing of Awareness! Pifferluke the Third has died! He was a Twinborn with Allomantic nicrosil and Feruchemical tin! Failu Failu has died! He was a Kandra with Allomantic tin, Feruchemical electrum and a Blessing of Presence! Bortington Smythe has died! He was a Twinborn with Allomantic copper and Feruchemical steel! Kirrah was attacked, but survived! Ostrich was attacked, but survived! Someone was attacked, but survived! Two Awesome items and a Pretty Cool item have been found! Rooms A1 now holds an Awesome item! The Day will end on Friday, at 10:00 PM CDT.

Part three of six of a collaboration between Mailliw and I. Emma shrugged on the trench coat and took his hand, and then was off and moving. Caught off guard, Ethan stole as much of her kinetic energy as he could without bringing her to a standstill, trying to keep her from injuring herself. It was enough to get him moving, but he could feel them slowing; they were going to come crashing back to the ground again. Emma kept increasing her velocity, however, and eventually they leveled out. Despite the looming heat of the fires in the back of his mind, Ethan almost managed to forget the convoy, letting out a whoop of joy. Flying like this was amazing. He looked across at Emma, grinning. The company was pretty good too. As they approached the convoy however, his smile fell. Nothing moved. There was almost no life to his senses, only fire and destruction. Ethan dropped Emma’s hand, heedless of her shock, allowing gravity to reassert itself. Plunging towards the ground, he broke his fall by reapplying his kinetic energy to a nearby tree. Wood groaned and branches snapped, but he touched down lightly. Smoke still hung heavy in the air, nauseating as it mixed with the sharp tang of blood. Nothing moved in the immediate vicinity; all he could sense were a few fires still burning, and Emma above, coming in for a landing. He started walking, not bothering to wait for her; the grass crunching under his feet as it was coated with a fine layer of frost. The first corpses came into view. Sentries, dismembered and disemboweled by some creature with terrible strength. The caravan proper appeared, tents burning, blood and tufts of white and black fur everywhere. Several bodies lay scattered about, some ursine, but most human. Far too few. Where are the rest? Did they escape? A panda stood with its back to him, holding what looked like a chunk of someone’s arm in one paw, while rummaging through the contents of one of the unburned tents with the other. Frostfire’s expression hardened into an unfeeling mask, belaying the rage burning within. He stepped forwards, his senses sharpening. The world blossomed into a strange portrait of subtle pastels in his mind’s eye, everything rendered in blurred streaks of light. His hand reached out and touched on of the nearby tents. It went dark on Frostfire’s internal map, fire extinguished as the fabric stiffened and cracked with ice. An impossible wind picked up and a faint mist covered the ground at his feet, even as the air around him darkened. The ursine began to back away, confusion almost comical upon its bestial features. It didn’t get far. One step, and the leg that had moved was incinerated, muscle and bone alike turning to ash over the space of an instant. It went down with a surprisingly human scream, and Frostfire couldn’t help the smile of grim satisfaction that spread over his face. Edgerunner felt the wind rush by and the comforting weight of Ethan's hand. Flying was much more enjoyable with handsome company. He let out a whoop. Emma laughed and let out a whoop of her own. She had begun to take flying for granted, but she forgot what it was like the first time around. Sparks, it was fun. Ethan grinned at her and she was genuinely enjoying herself. It was rare that she did that these days. Edgerunner frowned as they neared the camp. Fire and the smell of smoke and bodies filled the air. Ethan let go. Edgerunner looked down in a panic to see him land gently on his feet. A tree cracked and fell, but Ethan was alright. Edgerunner slowed herself and was about to land, when Ethan walked away. She kept flying for just a bit longer and headed for the camp as well. She landed softly behind Ethan as he froze a tent and then burned a panda's leg. Emma had unconsciously drawn one of her knives and had been about to plunge it into the bear. Realizing what she was doing, she put the knife back. Emma looked around for the first time and saw bodies, human and panda, strewn across the camp. She felt her stomach rising in her throat, but managed to keep the bile down. She had already thrown up this morning at the sight of Quicksilver's job; no need to do it again. "Ethan, what are you doing?" She asked as she saw his grim, angry face. She gently held his elbow. His mouth was drawn in a deep frown and his eyebrows were gathered together. Ty had looked like this before. She had always suffered after. But Ethan was different, right?

In other, other news, I just finished a Frostfire segment. Probably not the one you're thinking of, though. The WHOOC thread just got a little darker. Well, a lot darker, actually. The obligatory Zeppelin song to go with the post's title.

What Is And What Should Never Be: (Part One) The vanilla, Autumn was speaking. "I don't know who you are, but I do know that you're not doing anyone any favors. You think we want to see Reader wandering town with no pants on?" Want to see it? No. Want Reader to experience some small part of the pain and humiliation he’s dished out? Sparks yes. "Fix them, or find him a new pair. And if he doesn't have pants, or shorts, or even a skirt by the time I get back, I will personally ensure you never set foot in this town again." That goes too far, lady. What do you think you can do? A slow grin was spreading across Reader’s face, even as he struggled to hold up his pants. That smug little slontze. Why don’t I just reduce him to ash from the waist down? You don’t need pants if you don’t have legs. Calamity, why not do it for the lot of them? For a single frozen instant, Ethan stood. Doing nothing, saying nothing. His face was blank, impassive. Anger seethed underneath that veneer. He’d tried very hard to keep it down. He’d given it his all, ignoring what slights he could, and restraining himself from getting too violent when he couldn’t. Sparks, he even confronted Reader verbally, instead of ending the little misanthropic dirtbag’s miserable existence. Frostfire was done. The Dalles didn’t seem like a bad place, but there was only so much crap he could take. Four steps, ten seconds. Assuming that any Epic powerful enough to take him down would have destroyed the building by now, that’s all it would take. A dozen heartbeats and everyone in the room would be dead. One. The linoleum under his feet crackled with a thin layer of frost as it plunged down to arctic temperatures. The sound was fortunately quiet, lost within the general confusion. Two. The air warped just slightly around Frostfire’s hands, hinting at the heat he was holding, and would soon let loose. Inky darkness began to spread across his body, starting at the frost-covered floor. Three. Little threads of energy flashed out; near imperceptible to the naked eye, transferring just enough heat to jam the firing mechanism of every gun in sight. Reader glanced in his direction, smile only just starting to falter. Four. Frostfire gathered a portion of the heat he held, preparing to turn Reader’s very bones to ash. No. That’s too good for him. That slontze needs to suffer. Five. He turned back towards Autumn. No one stops me from doing anything. Clicking his fingers, he shoved just a few dozen degrees into her body. The woman collapsed, hemorrhaging from her eyes and nose as her blood literally started to boil. Six. Shock flitted over the face of the Epic who had stood beside Autumn. It didn’t last long, her expression easing as she received the same treatment. The first quick-thinking soldiers raised their guns, only to find them useless. He left the soldiers for now; they weren’t a threat to him. Seven. The more powerful Epics in the room came next, one after another falling, blood pooling over the linoleum. A few tried to run, but most had no idea what hit them. Eight. Most of the room had emptied. Shouts and screams were just starting to begin. Some of the vanillas had started towards the door. With a thought, he dumped all his remaining heat into the metal handle, welding the door shut. The fastest of them cried out in pain as he touched the blistering hot metal. Nine. Shivering under his trench coat, Frostfire stepped forwards, condensation from the rapidly cooled air freezing on his skin, the concrete base of the building cracking as it suddenly dropped well below negative thirty degrees Celsius. He casually picked off a few of the soldiers that had been reaching for their radios. We can’t have that now. Ten. Only two soldiers were left standing. One he dispatched easily, blood leaking from his ears as he fell to the ground. He turned towards the other, who managed to raise a sidearm Frostfire had missed. He pulled the trigger, no word of warning, no hesitation. Well trained, Frostfire noted in the split second before the bullet struck. Eleven. Raising an eyebrow, Frostfire observed the guard’s instant confusion and fear. After a moment, pulled the trigger again, emptying the whole clip into Frostfire’s chest. The bullets slowly fell to the floor as a feral grin spread across his face. “You appear to be out of ammunition. That makes it my turn, does it not?” Clicking his fingers, a loud crack emanated throughout the now near-silent clinic. The soldier’s head snapped around, tilting at an unnatural angle, every vertebra in his neck pulverized. A vague flicker of disappointment registered. One second slow. Frostfire looked around, searching for his original target. Reader was huddled in a corner, whimpering. Hah. Coward. Slowly walking towards the Epic, Frostfire spoke softly. “I see you’ve finally learned your place.” He crouched down, grasping Reader’s chin, forcing the man to look him in the eyes. “I am a god, and I plan to have some fun with you before I kill you.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Exiting the melted doors of the clinic, a faint smile was still on Frostfire’s face. Reader’s screams still echoed in his ears. He took a moment to watch the sun set over his new home. The Dalles hadn’t been what he expected, but that was alright. He would change it, remake it as he saw fit, until it was better. Until it was perfect. It was his duty, and nothing was going to stop him.

Too many posts to reply to: The WHOOC is almost definitely going to see some of Frostfire over the next couple weeks.

[Write-up to be edited in eventually.] -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Jaelre was lynched! He was a Spiked with Allomantic malatium and Feruchemical zinc! Votes: Jaelre: (6) Bort, Malrick, Hadrian, Neo, Cylkan, Kwon, Acer, Ella, Pifferluke, Failu, Kirrah, Dow The Night will end at 10:00 PM CDT on Tuesday. (Or maybe not. I might not have internet Tuesday night. I'll hopefully discuss things with Newan and see how they go.)