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Group 8
Ciato Orlouge - Ciato Orlouge
Dan Wilmhearst - Slayer of the Rot
Touma Kamikaji - Whispers of Abyssion
Sei Orlouge - Silence Sei
(With credit to Sei for the basic premise and setting...)
It was perhaps fate that he awoke first of the four. When the pain in his back grew too excruciating for peaceful slumber, his mind wrenched itself violently back to reality somewhat ahead of its prescribed schedule. The reason for said pain made itself clear quite quickly, and the young man groggily pulled himself free of the granite tetrapod that had broken his beaching, collapsing torso-first into coarse-edged sand. Curtains of darkness draped deeply across his eyes, accompanied by the gentle lulling rhythm of the waves washing up close to his ears. Such shadow could only exist in the presence of light, however, and the distant bonfire of flickering lamps made it a simple task to make sense of his surroundings, easily drowning out what stars might have shone in the velvet heavens above.
Touma Kamikaji's first conscious thought was of the dried blood and matted gore that clung to his body like a second layer of clothing, sealed to his skin by an overcoat of sticky salty residue that must have come from the sea. He took a tentative sniff, and would have retched were it not for an empty stomach.
He remembered fighting, deep inside an underground cavern somewhere below Kebiras. He vaguely remembered a monstrous horror easily twice the size of a standard dragon, all bulging eyes and groping claws and grotesque screams... ah, that would be it then. Forced displacement. Involuntary teleportation. He remembered Kayu speaking of a similar phenomenon when the Cabal had spirited her away, over a year ago now.
Touma's second thought was of his possessions, of his relative state of preparedness to face the challenges that surely lay ahead. Sword, check; rod, check; knife, check; kiseru, check. His robes, though filthy, didn't seem to be torn, and he even retained possession of both sandals. Ideally he would have preferred to bring at least another twenty or so mirrors along with him, but given the circumstances, he supposed that beggars could not be choosers.
Gingerly he tested his back, which groaned in protest but tolerated his abusive stretching. Gradually the endorphins kicked in and he could move with greater freedom, and slowly he rose to his feet. A gust of soft sea-breeze licked warmly at his still-damp clothes, followed by a low moaning keen from overhead that froze him momentarily to the spot before dissipating into the distance. He allowed himself to ponder briefly the lonely bittersweet sound, filing it away as likely belonging to a native avian species that he would do well to avoid until daylight.
With newly digested information fresh in his mind, narrowed brown eyes once again turned to their surroundings. They discerned little of note out to sea, save for the looming shadows where the horizon might have lain. Thus Touma turned smartly on his heels to study the coast upon which he had made landfall, sticky cotton robes floating limply in the humid salt air. Devoting his attention firstly to the big picture, he immediately noted that the myriad lights illuminating him from afar were spaced equidistantly and in neat rows - signs of artificial intent rather than natural design. They worked in concert to draw his gaze further inland, inwards and upwards until it rested on the island's crowning jewel: a brightly beckoning beacon set high above the rest of the metropolis, blazing merrily in constant luminance upon the lesser structures that surrounded it in all directions.
My destination, Touma realised instantly, instinctively. The goal of this little charade.
Swiftly he shook his head and refocused his thoughts, knowing that it would not do to get caught up in grand schemes without considering the small details. He cast his gaze about once more, this time trained closer to hand, and started to study the three other figures strewn about like so much discarded debris upon the beach.
One he instantly recognised from his mirror-gazing, distinctive orange hair attracting the eye even in the limited light. Sei Orlouge, Protector of Radasanth.
The second bore close familial resemblance to Sei, older perhaps but no less toned. Touma could not place his name, but carefully noted the slick white hair and keen features.
The third was none other than Dan Lagh'ratham, the Saraelian. There was no mistaking the powerful build and the scars upon his flesh.
... how interesting.
Touma's keen glare flicked between unconscious features – from Dan's to Sei's, and then to the unknown lying between them – all the while debating his next move. No doubt if he desired simply to advance to the next stage of the competition, then the shrewd stratagem would be to obediently tag along to the better-known adventurers. But would that really be the best decision at this stage? If he befriended them now, would there be any guarantee that they would not work against him - voluntarily or otherwise - at a latter stage?
Would it not be to his advantage to level the playing field while he still held the initiative?
Long precious minutes ticked by as Touma's cunning brain wrought its magic. Mind spun, thoughts churned, and plans hatched and died in unsung obscurity. Risks balanced against benefits, probabilities danced against costs, and the possible futures played out upon his mental chessboard. Once again he took in the key facts - his blood-drenched clothes, the streetlights in the distance, the three men motionless upon the coarse sand – and pieced them together in his mind like a patchwork puzzle.
His decision, once made, seemed almost an anticlimax.
With no further ado, Touma turned away from his 'comrades' and staggered off into the night.
Ciato was the next to awaken, his head still groggy from the spell used to bring him here. He could feel the grains of sand as they blew across his skin; feel the mosquitoes as they had feasted upon his body. The Mystic swatted at his neck, a low grumble escaping his mouth. Whoever had the audacity to make a fool out of him, the great Ciato Orlouge, would soon find penance for their misdeed at the tip of his beloved rapier, Asterodeia.
He sat up from the ground, checking around the area in hopes of recognizing where he was. The crashing of waves against sand hinted at a beach of some sort, though there were the sounds of a bustling town making faint echoes into the blackness of the night. He could barely make out a few silhouetted buildings, their outlines barely visible thanks to the candles used to keep their lights on. He was in an unknown land, but at least he was near civilized society.
At least as civilized as non-Mystic scum could get.
He finally roused himself to his feet, the sand that had snuck into his clothes raining out of the bottom of his pants. He reached into his pocket for his comb. After all, it would be rather undistinguished of him to not have the pinnacle of perfection atop his head. His hand searched the pocket of his vest for several seconds, his eyes growing wide when he could feel nothing but fine silk. Whoever had brought him here, they had stolen his comb. Another growl escaped, this time more defined. “Oh yes, there will be retribution…”
The nobleman made a fist, the hand shaking with anger at the sheer bravado of any crook who would steal from him. He closed his eyes, breathing in and out for ten seconds to try and calm his nerves. One of the Litter had taught him how to meditate in order to soother his violent tendencies. Between the constant buzzing mosquitoes, the sand in places where it should never be, and the bare visibility of his location, the meditating was doing little to help.
He heard something shuffle, and instantly turned to his left. His hand had already drawn Asterodeia, and the rapier was pointed directly at the human-like lump that lay in the sand. Ciato raised an eyebrow at the shaded creature, slightly poking it with his sword to check for vitals. “On your knees, worm. You will show the proper respect when a nobleman from the house of Orlouge is in your presence,
The inky blob turned around, the moonlight hitting the form just right to illuminate the orange mane atop the person’s head. His grey karate gi seemed to be flapping in the wind, inviting the grains of sand to rub against him. Ciato’s vision narrowed as he looked at the image of his more well-known brother, and all seemed to become clear to the Mystic.
“The Crown…” Ciato mumbled to himself, bits of sand crumbling down his lips. His gaze shifted around, checking both for dangers and potential allies. Soon, the man’s eyes settled upon another large man-like outline. The Mystic could tell just from the girth of the body that the man was probably ones of his brother’s friends, or worse yet, self-righteous Ixian bodyguards. A scowl forms upon Ciato’s lips. Attacking his brother now would not be prevalent to his goals of winning the Adventurer’s Crown. For now, Sei was to be a pawn in the giant chess game of this tournament, defending Ciato, his ‘King’ with his own life if he had to.
Sacrifices were surely an outcome of this competition. Probably.
Ciato leaned down to his brother, shaking his body a few times. When his handicap hindrance continued to lie still in the sand, Ciato shook a little harder. “Sei, get up. The tournament’s started.”
Sei’s answer was turning his back towards his older brother, Ciato’s fists starting to shake in frustration. He looked back and forth for a moment, lifted his leg, and slammed the toe of his steel-toed boot into his brother’s spine. Sei’s body rolled in the sand three times before the Protector of Radasanth rolled onto his feet, the chakrams normally sheathed at his hips in each of his hands. Ciato smiled at this pose; a battle-ready Sei was a better pawn than a sleeping Sei.
“Wakey wakey,” Ciato spoke, sheathing his sword and walking towards his defensive brother, his lips ‘tisking’ his sibling for drawing his weapons. “Keep that kind of attitude up, and I’m telling Mother….”
Ciato’s sudden presence was a welcome surprise to the mute, despite the stance that he had taken against his brother. Sei had determined ahead of time the chances of just ‘waking up’ at the start of the Adventurer’s Crown; people with lots of power had the tendency to abuse such powers. As such, the telepath had spent several days preparing himself for the coming of the tournament. While no date had been set, Sei had ensured that he slept with as many of his weapons as he could, as well as his Thayne-blessed armaments. In fact, the only noticeable losses to his person were his trademark Gemini Blades (which he couldn’t sleep with, as he usually had them sheathed upon his back), and his kung fu shoes known as ‘The Feet of Y’edda’ (Because who the hell sleeps with their shoes on?)
Sei lowered his stance and sheathed his chakrams as Ciato approached; the brother’s slapping one another’s hands in a friendly fashion. “Ciato,” Sei spoke with a smile graced across his features, “I was hoping I would be paired with a family member. Is there anyone else here?”
“Just your sleeping beauty,” Ciato used his sword to point behind Sei. The mute turned to see the large, slumbering form of Dan, a man who once went by the nickname ‘The Slayer’. “You chose your protectors well brother. I know if I were under attack, I would surround myself with lazy giants as well.” There was venom in Ciato’s sarcasm, and his grip upon his brother’s hand tightened.
“We both know you’d rather throw your own children at a threat before you ever engaged in combat yourself,” Sei commented with his own snarky tone, his grip meeting that of Ciatos. His brother raised an eyebrow, a now sinister smile across his face.
“That’s okay, because my Litter fights better than over half of your knights. The ones that don’t betray you, anyway.” This comment earned the noble Mystic a direct punch to the face, causing him to release Sei’s hand in order to check his nose for bleeding. Sei’s face donned a look of worry, though he was mentally beaming with happiness for taking a shot at his most annoying of kin.
“We need to get moving. That town is probably our best bet for finding any clues or tips on how to advance in this tournament,” Sei spoke as he looked behind Ciato, to the skyline that belonged to the nearby city. Sei looked to the air, following the trail of smog that signaled industrialization. Was it possible that the tournament had brought the Orlouges to Alerar? The lack of airships seemed to answer that question for the strategist. He looked back to Ciato, who had a sneer, a look of sheer contempt in his crystalline blue eyes. The smell of his musty cologne sneaking in uninvited and disturbing Sei’s senses.
“What about him?” Ciato once again pointed to Dan, his grip on the sword steadier now, as if he were ready to strike down his sibling at a moment’s notice. Apparently Sei’s blow did more damage to Ciato’s already fragile ego than it did to his face. “Won’t he be concerned if he wakes up all by his lonesome?
“Dan has a tendency of finding troubling, and then proceeding to wipe it out,” Sei spoke with the utmost confidence of the Slayer, “if we get a head start on him, we’ll be able to avoid less needless casualties.”
“Casualties are only useless when you don’t exploit them right,” Ciato mumbled underneath his breath. Sei ignored him, choosing instead to run his shoulder into that of his brother’s as he passed by, the blow causing the older Orlouge to take a force step back.
“Let’s make one thing clear before we leave together, Ciato,” Sei spoke, the smell of his relative’s cologne already fading from his nostrils, “I still haven’t forgiven you for what you did to V’dralla, and you still would like to see me broken and defeated. However, we do share a common goal for now. Let’s try to get along for now.”
Ciato followed his brother, a sarcastic laugh escaping from his lips. “Oh yes,” he said, both of his arms extended outwards as if he were having the time of his life, “Let’s reach the common goal of making it into town so we can prove to the world that the Orlouge family bond is unbreakable! We’ll show them that we’re undefeated when we work together! Friendship and family is magic! All for the sake of reaching the city!”
“I wasn’t referring to the city when I was referring to our common goal,” Sei continued to walk, his bare feet brushing against both grass and dirt and he began his journey. Ciato slowed his pursuit for a moment, a sign that he was now genuinely curious.
“Then wh---“
“Kyla entered the tournament as well…”
Those words caused Ciato to completely stop, a pause of utter shock.
The skyship left the suburbs at sunrise, floating majestically into the swift-moving grey cloud that hung low over the island. Its sleek lines and widespread windsails placed it closer to dar’elin or ancient elven design than the steam-powered efficiency of Alerar or the coal-belching behemoths of Kebiras. Apparently it was only safe to fly in these islands during windows of a few hours respectively at dawn and dusk: intense light interacted with the smoggy cocktail in the sky to create corrosive poison during the day, whilst nocturnal predators adapted to life in the city and quite capable of overwhelming medium-sized craft – such as the fearsome banshee he had overheard last night – stalked the darkness. As such, Touma actually found the skies rather empty for an industrialised society; it took a little while to get used to, albeit a lot less hectic on the senses.
In the brief moments before he lost sight of the land below, the Nipponese finally managed to garner some idea of the sheer vastness of the metropolis he had stumbled upon. The sliver of beach upon which he had found himself stranded soon disappeared completely, lost between the grimy grey of soot-stained shacks and the greater azure of the ocean beyond. Glued to his cabin’s porthole as the ground dropped away, his eyes traced the abrupt divide between man and nature as it extended in a perfect curve as far as he could see in both directions, never once losing its harsh contrast. Then they flicked back to the rigidly packed blocks of residential housing that lay directly beneath him, structures that undulated gently into local peaks – suburban centres like the one that his skyship had just departed from – before falling away again. The greatest peak of them all remained the tall tower in the centre of the island, the crowning lights that he had witnessed just after waking the previous night, the jewel to which he was now headed. Its monstrous girth of steel and stone jutted forth from the ground like an abhorrent gesture to whatever gods lived above the clouds, a blatant symbol of man’s defiance and disregard.
It hadn’t been hard to convince the natives of his identity as the harmless victim of some dire accident, in desperate need of their aid. He had eventually stumbled into an all-hours patrol station, where the officers on duty had taken pity on the half-dressed young man in obvious shock and pain. They fed him, cleansed his clothes, tended to his injuries, and granted him passage on the daily skyship to the central tower, where they told him he would find further help. They weren’t quite so naïve as to send him there unguarded, but the overweight patrolman assigned as escort even now slumbered noisily in the seat opposite.
Of course it helped that he played the part of mentally-traumatised casualty to perfection, complete with a few judicious glances over his shoulder and occasional fearful whispers of "they’re after me”, “three men… three men… black and white and orange…”, and “blood on the planking… blood on the sea”, combined with hysterical laughter. Touma considered himself an expert judge of mood and character, and he caught the meaningful glances passing between officer and patrolman, the thick tension in the air, and the worried looks in the direction of the beach. He wondered how long it would take for his blood-drenched robes to inspire the word to spread, the paranoia to build, the trigger-fingers to itch.
After all, these island folk had lived in the middle of nowhere all their life, and quite naturally had inbred suspicions against anybody from the outside world. One man appearing before them visibly weakened and injured was one thing… three battle-hardened warriors on said man’s trail would be another altogether.
Outright accusing somebody of murder was a risky and dangerous proposition in his line of work, and tantamount to suicide when the somebody in question was as powerful as Sei Orlouge or Dan Lagh’ratham. Insinuating, implicating, and manipulating, however…
Touma allowed himself the faintest of smiles as he wondered what sort of reception would greet his 'comrades' when they finally deigned to approach civilisation.
Ciato’s body stiffened at the news of Kyla’s registration. While the noble Mystic did not like many of his family, Kyla Orlouge was the exception to the rule. While technically the youngest daughter to the oldest Orlouge brother, Sei had taken the girl under his wing and adopted her as his own. Unlike her three sisters, however, Kyla had some semblance of a dark side, one that Ciato helped nourish and expose more often than not. There were not a lot of things Ciato Orlouge cared for, but Kyla was definitely one of them.
“Then we have to reach that city at all costs,” Ciato whispered to himself, keeping up with the pace of his brother, finally taking notice of the sockless and shoeless feet of his younger sibling. The two walked side by side for a while, both of them enjoying the lack of talking from the other. Ciato did not feel up to hearing about justice and virtue and the right way to do things and Sei didn’t want to hear about what he could do with the power and fortune he had accumulated.
As they approached closer to the city, Ciato began to hear sounds more familiar to his lifestyle. People were talking, some loud, some in normal tones, the whirling of machines and braying of horses told the Mystic that he was now closer than ever to the first traces of true civilization since waking up. He could make out the form of several men; most likely guards stationed outside the city gates. They were approaching with a speed matching that of the Orlouges.
“Stop,” Sei ordered Ciato as if he were one of their Ixian Knights. The older brother obeyed, and found himself dumbfounded with just how commanding of a tone Sei could have for a telepath. “Look at their hands, Ciato.” The noble man obeyed, and a slick smile creeped across his face.
The soldiers had one hand above their heads, holding up lanterns to help them see in case things got too dark. Two of the six men were using their free hand to hold leashes, the straps holding back canines with jet black coats, pointed tip noses, and clipped ears. They were hunting dogs, but not ones that hunted game, these were dogs that tracked down and took down grown men.
Ciato reached to his side, his hand resting upon his rapier’s hilt. Sei lifted a hand, intending to interject, but Ciato cut his brother off, withdrawing his sword with such force that the hilt of the blade literally slammed directly into Sei’s face. His mute brother would treat the motion as an accident, but Ciato had too much skill with a blade to ‘accidentally’ withdraw too far. Now, the blow was payback for Sei’s earlier punch, but in such a subtle way that the telepath would never realize it.
“Fools….all of them,” Ciato said as he ran forward while his brother recovered from his injury. The Mystic lifted his sword, dashing forth towards one of the dogs. By the time Sei had managed to yell the order to stop at his relative, the blade of the rapier had found a home four inches into the beast’s neck. “I will show you all the strength of Ciato Orlouge!” The mighty Mystic declared, much to the dismay of his brother.
Sei shuddered at the sight of the crimson rain enveloping his brother. The mute had always admired his older brother’s skill with a sword. The older Orlouge always had a skill and grace when using his weapon; from using traditional moves such as a larga movement (being able to close a large gap between one self and opponent with a single step and thrust), to less commonly used techniques, such as smacking the second dog in the nose with the piatto (the flat of a rapier blade). But as all things that involved Ciato Orlouge, with the beauty came a shockingly horrifying tone as well.
Blood seemed to fall from the sky, the white haired Mystic easily cutting at the throats of his foes, sending their life essence splattering on their comrades faces. There were howls of pain, last whines in the throes of death. And even as the last thing standing, the dog Ciato had not killed yet, had his entire body forced down by the strength of the rapier shoving into it’s back, there were noises of misery escaping from the beast.
Sei stood mortified, looking as his brother withdrew the weapon from the dog, only to place it straight into his skull. Ciato removed his weapon once more, flinging it to the side to wipe away excess blood, and turned back to his brother. His pale reflection was now soaked blood red, his clothes with large splatters of crimson. The foul stench of death and blood permeated the newly colored grass field. Sei took a hard swallow, glad that, at least this time, he and Ciato were not enemies.
“Let’s go,” Ciato said plainly, turning back around and sheathing his weapon, “there will be another patrol soon, and Asterodeia is sated at the moment. We should hurry up and get into town to find Kyla. Now.”
Sei watched as his brother took the lead, running straight into the town. Originally, the mute thought that he would be the one to lead this little expedition. However, after watching Ciato work, of remembering how this man killed a God right in front of Sei’s eyes, the telepath began to have second thoughts. Ciato would get through the city in the fastest and most efficient way possible, and make sure that the two of them got to Kyla before anybody else.
“Wait up,” Sei said, running after his kin, to which he heard a loud ‘No’ shouted from Ciato, who was rapidly gaining a distance between them. “Ciato Orlouge, mark my words, if you slay any innocent blood today, it will not be the guards that you have to worry about. It will be me.” Sei’s ‘tone’ was decisive. While he couldn’t afford to waste time with people who looked ready to kill the brothers, he also could not have his reputation tarnished by his more ‘noble’ brother.
Ciato slowed his run, long enough for Sei to catch up and hear him. “Look at me, trembling in my boots….”
Morning came slowly to the poorly paved streets.
Part of the problem lay in the thick smog overhead blunting all semblance of light filtering down to ground level, he realised as he flitted like a ghost from window to window. Without a clear natural indication of when to start their day, the natives had to rely on artificial means of timekeeping: steam-powered clocks, perhaps, or centrally controlled interior lighting, or…
Or the piercing wail of an alarm siren, echoing brashly yet mournfully from loudspeakers placed strategically throughout the tired blocks of residential housing.
Touma’s disembodied head – a fragment of his soul channelled through his polished glass knife via mirror-gazing techniques – paused for a moment in the corner of a grocery shop to ponder. All around him, flames blossomed within homes as the eerie sound continued to echo. Concerned faces peered from doors held half ajar, and a murmured hubbub began to swell from one block to the next. Something was wrong.
Again the smile played at the edges of his thinly pursed lips.
Once again he sped forth on the move, an ethereal apparition barely visible as it danced from pane to pane along the darkened pavements. His physical shell remained safely slumped in the skyship high above, opposite the peacefully cataleptic guard in a cabin now locked from the inside, but nothing could hope to bind his consciousness as it sped through the stirring city. Outwards towards the beach, on a route vaguely remembered from a few hours before when he had stumbled in…
There.
Orange and white… Sei and the unknown.
Adorned in red.
He observed them from a street mirror as they plunged into the streets, the white-haired swordsman unerring in his desire to penetrate the city, his orange-haired companion less eager and certainly more circumspect. Their argumentative banter reached his ears, almost nostalgic in the way it crawled up his spine. Almost as if Sei didn’t want to follow this Ciato’s lead, but had little choice in the matter…
The name rang a bell, and he recognised it from the list of Sei Orlouge’s known kin and associates. One look into the distance at the bladework that had done for the officer and his patrol confirmed his hypothesis; the white-haired unknown had a label now to go with his face. Ciato Orlouge, eldest of the three main Orlouge brothers.
In another world, another place, Touma might have felt guilt and regret for involving these men - both innocent and not - in a quarrel not of their choosing. But compared to the devastation of the Cataclysm, with the fate of the entire known multiverse at stake, their sacrifice meant nothing to him. Six lives, possibly two more, against the possibility of saving billions? He had been granted the power to make such decisions, and thus it was his lot to weigh them in his hands and to discard them if necessary. The Book of Destiny was a prize worthy of such a loss.
He carefully filed his newly-gained information away, then took a second look about his surroundings. For now, what he didn’t see concerned him more than what he did… where was Dan Lagh’ratham, the Slayer, the Saraelian?
Marking his current location upon his mental map, he cast his thoughts about him for a trace of the fourth castaway.
All around him, the alarm swelled in intensity as the slumbering city slowly reacted to the deaths of its guards.
He ran. He ran as fast as his feet could carry him into the city. The sounds of the sirens all around him did nothing to deter him from his goal. Winning the Adventurer’s Crown and making sure Kyla were safe were his priorities, though he was unsure which one trumped the other in terms of importance. The industrialized building whizzed by his head and the towns people moved from the two charging men. It helped that one of them was soaked in blood and looked genuinely insane.
The smell of smog from the city began to fill his nostrils, much to Ciato’s pleasure. Civilization was its own worst enemy, tearing down things it needed to survive for things it could survive without. Man was a beautiful beast of burden. Guards would come, Ciato counted on that, and had his Asterodeia armed and ready to strike when the time came. Already the blade was thirsting for more blood.
Ciato smiled as he saw a line of men, each clad in decently crafted leather body armor, halberds at the ready and pointed at the two rushing Mystics. He slowed down, hearing Sei’s own bare foot running catching up to his stride. Ciato looked back for a moment, grinning sadistically at his brother.
“Ciato….don’t you do it….”
“Sorry Sei, can’t hear you over the sound of us winning this tournament!” Ciato announced, picking up his pace once more and running directly into one of the soldiers halberds, the tip of the blade a mere inch or so from actually penetrating the nobleman.
The glass formed spider web cracks all along his body, shattering without so much as a second thought. The guards eyes widened, horrified of this mysterious and strange beast. As the Mystic Protection homed into the guard that dare try and run through Ciato Orlouge, the white haired wonder laughed maniacally. The glass pieces rained down into the mans eye, a fountain of crimson being pushed out so more broken glass could be pushed in. By the time all of the glass had penetrated the soldier’s body, he fell to the ground dead, a pool of read not only under him, but across the features of his comrades.
“My name is Ciato Orlouge!” he exclaimed proudly, his blade singing a chorus of madness into any flesh he could find, “And by the time I’m through you will know two things; my name and your place!”
Ciato’s declaration struck fear into the hearts of their would-be attackers. Ciato cut his sword into a few more guards before Sei’s hand grabbed the nobleman by the wrist, stopping his slaughter of the soldiers. The guard took this act of mercy as a sign to turn tail and run, kicking up a cloud of dust as they did so. Ciato turned his head to his brother, glaring at his younger sibling as he yanked his wrist out of the telepath’s grip.
While still looking at his brother, Ciato threw his rapier through the air, the sword planting itself firmly in the back of an escaping soldiers head. If the guard was not running as fast as they could before, they certainly were now. Ciato turned to the corpse of the last killed guard, walking over to the body and drawing his blade out from its skull sheath. “If you ever stop me in the middle of a symphony again,” Ciato slung the liquid rubies off his sword with a fling, “I will make sure that you will be the crescendo.”
Sei sighed at Ciato’s way of speaking. The Older Orlouge never saw killing as slaughter, but as an ‘art comparable to an orchestra’, as he phrased it. Every kill was just another musical instrument joining in the symphony. The crescendo was typically reserved for the best kill, which to Sei translated to the most gruesome. To be threatened to be the most brutal death in Ciato’s daily symphony was not a threat to be taken lightly, and it was the final straw for Sei.
He ran at his brother, tackling him to the ground. The two rolled in the dirt for a moment before they finally stopped, Sei on top of Ciato and continuously beating in his brother’s face. Each blow seemed to alleviate the stress of the younger Mystic further and further.
“I’m done with your orders,,” a quick punch to the right side of Ciato’s face, “with your threats,” a punch to the right, “and most importantly, your reckless endangerment of this town! And I will not stand for it any longer!” The punches came more rapidly now, until Ciato’s cheeks were swelling, his eyes almost closed shut from his brother’s barrage of bare knuckle beatings.
“Beautiful…” Ciato whispered, as if he were on his last legs. The soft words caused Sei to stop his pounding for a moment to look at how pathetic his sibling looked now. Azure blood was pouring from the mouth of the ‘noble’ Mystic, as well as from his nose. Bruises had easily swelled up on the older brother. Unfortunately, this was the exact opportunity Ciato wanted, and before Sei could react, he was on bottom, taking the haymakers to the face.
“It’s beautiful the way I can use you! You’re a pawn and I am your king!” Almost each word spoken by Ciato came with a punch. As the fists slammed into the mute’s face, Sei kept trying to focus his attention back towards the sky, beyond Ciato’s head. Looming over the two was a giant airship, at least three blocks long from Sei’s point of view. The mute’s lack of defending himself was not lost on his brother either, and eventually Ciato turned his blurred vision towards the sky as well, an occasional punch still slamming into his brothers’ face. He had to remember that Ciato was his better, after all.
“Airship?” Sei asked, his ‘tone’ remaining unchanged despite the beating Ciato had delivered onto him. Ciato nodded, “Airship.”
Ciato climbed off of his brother and Sei (who, while suffering a few bruises, looked nowhere near as bad as Ciato), closed his eyes and almost instantaneously sprouted two large, blue butterfly wings from his back. The mute grabbed his older brother under the arms, and leapt up into the sky, using his wings to support the noble. After all, if this airship was hovering over this land as ominously as it seemed, chances were that it was the cause of all these patrols.
And if that were the case, the mastermind behind this plan would feel the full wrath of the two Orlouge brothers.
His attention returned just in time to witness Ciato’s savage rampage, and he grimly noted the ease with which the shards of magic – innate, perhaps? – sliced through human flesh. Though he could not utilise his sense of smell whilst incorporeal, he could well imagine the heady musk of fear that doubtless now accompanied the pervasive metallic odour of blood. Natives recoiled in disgust in all directions, and from one of the houses a young girl screamed.
A hurried but thorough search had revealed no trace of Dan Lagh’ratham, almost as if the Slayer had never been called to the island in the first place. Only the well-defined indentation upon the sand where his body had lain remained of his presence; not a single footprint led away, not a single sign of departure imprinted upon ground left pristine in all directions. Perhaps the faceless organiser of the tournament had tired of his fearless slumber through adverse circumstances, and simply sent him home.
Touma didn’t care. No matter what the reason why, the departure of the infamous warrior meant one less wildcard to worry about. Not that either of the Orlouge brothers seemed to entertain thoughts of making it any easier for him, although...
His disembodied head watched with renewed interest as they began tearing into one another with flying fists and vicious insults, now completely ignoring the patrolmen fleeing into the alleyways to regroup. Apparently the two of them were not on the best of terms. Another tasty morsel of information to file away, another small smile playing about Touma’s lips.
Then Sei chose that particular moment to look to the skies, and Touma froze, certain that their eyes had met as the mute’s gaze slid over the street mirror. He might have dismissed it as a fleeting scare, except that in a way that he could not quite explain, he felt that he had seen deeply into Sei’s current state of mind, and had – however involuntarily – gained some small measure of the man.
Sei wore the look of one with little to lose, one who would give everything he had left to achieve but a single goal. Touma had seen it once before.
The look Xuan wore on the fields of Nenaebreth, when he realised Kayu was on the other side.
That day the psy-mage had stood witness in quiet awe as a twenty-something scholar more renowned for naïve innocence than battle prowess had single-handedly turned the tide against one of the greatest undead hordes gathered during the Corpse Wars. If Ciato and Sei could pull off anything resembling that magnitude here, then he had to admit to himself that he might have misjudged the depths of their resolve in entering the tourney. They might not be here to save the world, but they had certainly come prepared to risk their lives for something.
Touma’s lips pursed as again he filed away the precious nugget of information. For the first time that day his pinched features wore something that might just be interpreted as concern. The smile disappeared, replaced by a cautious frown that neatly furrowed his aquiline forehead.
He didn’t have much time to dwell on it, though. A nagging prompt in the back of his mind reminded him that he had to return his consciousness to the skyship before it docked with the central tower. A heartbeat later, he returned to the safety of his body above the clouds, flicking his fingers one by one as always to get rid of the tingling pins and needles. From his porthole he could see the tethers in place as the craft gently floated into its mooring, more than forty floors above ground level.
He had at least two hours head start on the Orlouges, and had been flying towards his goal all the while they fought through the guards on foot. Despite the not-inconsiderable advantage, however, he knew that he did not have much time.
Twenty minutes… thirty, at best, he told himself as he unlocked the cabin door and took a deep breath. Use them well.
“Help! I think he’s had a heart attack!” he called out a moment later, repeating the cry when a stunned steward in crisp navy uniform and golden epaulettes responded to his entreaties. “Get a doctor, I think he’s unconscious!”
To their credit, they responded promptly and efficiently, calling for first aid and rushing to administer the appropriate treatment to the unsuspecting patrolman. Touma found the resulting organised chaos the perfect cover to disembark undetected, disappearing without a trace into the looming tower.
Ten minutes later, having worked out how to use an ingenious steam-powered contraption of cable and counter-weight, he found himself standing on a steel platform at the very top of the tower. A fluid arcane shield kept the choking smog at bay from a bare hemisphere perhaps fifty paces in diameter, the drop to the ground otherwise unprotected. The vastness of the blinking lights so far below, and the faint wail of sirens, emphasised the distance between them. The entire area was lit by a circle of twelve dim lanterns placed evenly around the hatch from which he had emerged.
Not perfect, he thought to himself, but a reflective surface was a reflective surface. The location would suffice...
Something wet and sticky dribbled onto his shoulder, accompanied by a blast of stale rotten breath.
Touma instinctively kicked away as razor-sharp teeth snapped at where his head had been just moments ago. The avian - all slender sinewy neck and leathery wing - growled in protest and bared dirty claws, ready to pounce.
He didn't dare give it the chance. One moment he floated in the opposite direction, evading the wyvern's attack. The next, he crouched below its arrow-like head, hand poised over his sword as his breath exhaled frostily in the chill air.
A flash of quicksilver, a crescent arc slicing through the shadows.
A scream of pain as the beast staggered backwards, bleeding profusely from the remnants of one eye.
The soft phlop of shifting magic as it slipped through the protective arcane shield, blinded and panicking.
A shriek as it lost its footing and fell from the platform, wings spread wide as it sought to arrest itself.
A sickening crunch as it died abruptly mid-wail, in a glint of jagged teeth and a gush of splattering gore.
A gust of rancid wind, and Touma caught a hint of monstrous darkness soaring through the black cloud just beyond the tower. He could have sworn a cluster of beady red pupils eyed him hungrily as they passed by. The banshee – for what else could it be – thankfully decided to leave him alone as not worth the trouble, disappearing into the distance as swiftly and silently as it had fed on its luckless prey.
There is always a bigger bird in the sky.
Marking the words down as another lesson well learned, Touma allowed himself a few moments to reflect on the short-lived encounter, committing the details to memory. Then he cleansed his blade, returned it to its sheath, and stalked back to the centre of the platform. Steadying his breath and releasing the adrenaline from his body, he forced himself to focus upon the task at hand; folding his arms in his long sleeves, he swung his hawkish head from side to side before settling to his knees in a meditative stance. One by one the lanterns dimmed to his will.
He had no doubt that pursuit would soon emerge, either from the hatch before him or via more esoteric means. Until then, he wanted to accomplish as much as possible.
Once again he cast his mind into the mirrored mists.
The cool wind felt great against Ciato’s beaten and bruised skin, cooling off the heat from the wounds that Sei had caused. As they flew through the air, towards the airship, the duo began to hear strange noises coming from all around. Ciato could decidedly pick up the cawing of birds, as well as a viper-like hiss coming from almost all around them. There was also the odd noise that Ciato could only describe as throwing something soft against a hard wall.
The whirling of the engines began to drown out these noises as they approached their destination. While he could not see well due to his swollen eyes, the nobleman could distinctly see the large shape of the ship, even larger now that the brothers had gotten closer to their goal. It was at least six blocks long, and two wide; probably the marvel of the city. The girth of the transport had Ciato wondering whether or not this vehicle was made for war or tourism.
His internal question was answered as the same sirens that had penetrated their ears before suddenly did so once again. Ciato raised an eyebrow (which was painful considering how sensitive his face currently was) at the alarm. They had not even gotten on board yet and the warnings were still sounding? It struck Ciato and Sei at the same exact time, and both brothers felt the need to announce it.
“The alarms aren’t for us….” They said in unison as a veil of black and white feathers appeared over the horizon, charging towards the in flight siblings and enveloping them fully.
As they were covered in the odd colored feathers, everything was starting to be pieced together. The original scouting party wasn’t hunting Sei and Ciato; they were hunting any bodies that may have been claimed by this feathery flock. The alarms didn’t sound because the town had intruders, but because it was almost time for the aerial destruction to awaken. With the exception of the guards in town, Ciato had been killing needlessly, a fact Sei knew his brother would revel in.
He started to hear tearing sounds coming from below. Looking down, Sei could see his brother hacking away at the various winged beasts that were flying past the. The mute could see features for each beast that he could easily recognize. A scaly –looking tail whizzed past the mutes face, formerly a wyvern, the shriek of a woman and the sudden strands of hair within the mute’s mouth indicated a banshee, and the large wing Ciato was now penetrating with his sword hinted at harpies. Each of these creatures, colored black or white, typical colors of evil and good, chaos and law, Ciato and Sei.
With little effort, Sei threw his brother into the winged epidemic. Ciato would be able to keep himself aloft long enough for Sei to thin down the numbers of these creatures. The mute quickly closed his eyes, removing his chakrams from his sides once more and throwing them with little hesitation. The ringed blades met with the bones of several of the beasts, bouncing around as if one threw a ball in a room full of rubber. He smiled as he heard the shattering of his own Mystic Protection; apparently a harpy within the flock got wise and tried to attack.
Sei’s glass shot out in every direction, essentially clearing a wide area around the mute, and causing many more of these creatures to rain down onto the city below. If the sharp glass from Sei’s spell had not killed the beasts, then certainly the drop to the ground would. He could still hear Ciato hacking away at the monsters, which was a relief of sorts. The mute went into his pants, withdrawing a broken apart three-sectioned staff.
The weapon worked incredible for slamming into the carnivorous would-be attackers but still having enough slack for the mute to pull it back when he needed to. He could only imagine what the villagers were watching; the monsters of their nightmares falling to the ground, the very skies filled with the screams of banshees both attacking and dying. After a few good minutes of flailing his staff around, the mute could see an opening within the flock, above his head. Without hesitation, Sei shot himself upwards, and out of the flying horde.
Sei gave a moment of pause, however. He had not heard his brother slashing at his foes for a while. Had Sei inadvertently killed Ciato? Had one Orlouge stained his hands with the blood of another? Sei’s eyes widened for a moment, before shifting his gaze over to the nearby tower, the lights at the top of it flickering out. Only one person had such a flair for such a dramatic display.
“That bastard left me!” Sei exclaimed, and quickly jettisoned towards the tow
The shadows beyond the veil danced in agitation, a sure sign that his surroundings grew restless. In the real world, he could sense the faint flutter of feathery wings, punctuated by the occasional distant shriek. The lack of suitable media made it impossible for him to accurately follow the riotous melee, but from time to time he caught flashes of orange and white, nearly lost amidst a veritable horde of avians flocking to defend their home. With the sunlight gradually intensifying, only a matter of minutes remained before the entire lower atmosphere became deadly to anything drawing breath; said urgency seemed to manifest itself in the struggle as both sides grew steadily more desperate.
Then he became aware of a disturbance much closer to his corporeal shell. Swiftly he gathered back to him the fragments of soul he’d sent scouting the land.
Barely had he re-established himself when the first lantern shattered.
“Well, well…”
The voice resounded cruelly, somewhat distorted from beyond the shielding veil.
Another soft phlop, and this time the translucent field parted inwards, neatly separating choking smog from clean air whilst admitting the physical incursion. From overhead and in front of him the intruder descended – a richly dressed nobleman straddling a haggard harpy, keeping the keening beast in line with vicious whip-like slashes from a long, elegant sabre. In his off hand he held one of the harpy’s pinfeathers, an exact replica of the projectile that had pierced the broken lantern mere moments ago and now quivered like a taut blade of grass in the steel deck.
His next words were no longer distorted, and if anything resounded with even more malice.
“What do we have here?”
A blurred motion, barely seen, and the pinfeather took flight. A second lantern shattered with the muted tinkle of flying glass, followed by a pained squawk as the nobleman ripped another pair of projectiles from his mount. The harpy tried to bolt, rebelling against the treatment, but one or two fierce lashes bent it again to its rider’s will. It keened pitifully, rust-brown plumage stained with blood, but neither man paid it any notice.
Touma did not dignify the rhetorical question with a reply, instead choosing to calmly match gazes with the gloating Ciato. Instinctively he realised that his original plan – to continue the ruse of a confused and bewildered castaway – would not suffice. Under the circumstances, with his dander up and missing Sei’s calming influence, Ciato was just as likely to run him through as to dismiss him as harmless.
“You’re dressed differently from the indigenous,” Ciato mused, running a hand through his flowing white hair while keeping an eye on Touma from above an upturned nose. The Nipponese felt the nobleman’s disdain for his poor attire as a force almost physical upon his skin. Ciato turned his scornful stare to Touma’s unruly mop of dirty hair, and sneered even wider. Sniffing loftily, he gave his verdict, “I find you… distasteful. Unkempt. Unworthy.”
The flash of steel. Carelessly the nobleman lashed out, left and right, destroying two more of the lanterns with callous precision. Nearly half of the tower-top platform now lay in smoggy shadow, chill air vibrating to the laboured wingbeats of the enslaved harpy.
Touma held his silence, continuing to bait the other man into action. Rich and poor, belligerent against submissive; at first glance it might have seemed that there was little in common between the two. And yet, at a closer look, it became clear that they shared the same haughty arrogance… the same calculating cunning… the same manipulative mindset… the same undercurrent of violence.
“Cat got your tongue? Or are you simply mute like that brother of mine?”
A fifth lantern flame died a flickering death, followed closely by a sixth. With every stroke, Ciato’s blade grew thirstier, less restrained.
Still Touma did not speak, eyes tracking his opponent’s every movement and imprinting every last detail upon his keenly focused mind. Only when a tell-tale tick gave away the nobleman’s intent to launch one of his pinfeather projectiles at the psy-mage himself did he finally give voice.
“Stand down, Ciato Orlouge,” he ordered, in the most irritatingly calm voice he could muster. “I’m not the one you should be fighting.”
Ciato paused for a minute before launching his makeshift projectiles at this man. “Ah,” he spoke, a smile creeping across his features, “so you know my name, without me even giving it. Interesting.” Ciato slapped the harpy’s back with his rapier once more, just for good measure and to keep the beast in line. Touma could not see the dark red lines that had formed due to Asterodeia’s bite upon the spine of his new mount, but if he had, Ciato was certain he would have not been ordered to stand down. Not by a commoner.
“Funny though, you knowing my name,” Ciato shifted the feather in his hand, casually tossing it up and down in the air, as one would a handful of coins. His playful (albeit morbid) grin suddenly once more changed to a stern look of seriousness and determination. With only that warning, Ciato threw the feather at his opponent, hoping to catch Touma off guard and finish this with a single blow. “Especially since I never gave it!”
The feather flew at Touma with great speed, but paused just inches before slamming into his body. Ciato closed his eyes and sighed, tucking his entire body behind his aerial steed as the breaking glass of Mystic Protection filled the sky, shooting glass shards in every direction. The nobleman could feel the pieces of the shattered shield as they whizzed over his body, nearly tearing his clothes. The harpy screamed in pain, broken glass covering not only her body, but the length of her wings as well. Ciato responded with another crack of his rapier, as if it were a whip, and the body of the beast collapsed onto the ground.
Ciato jumped before the harpy fell down dead, kicking the bird upon landing. “Useless,” he said, before delivering another kick, then another, and another. The white haired Mystic, after finally kicking his ‘loyal’ harpy’s body a third time, turned to Touma. “You of course know, I’m not talking about the stupid demon.”
“I know,” Sei’s voice filled both the minds of the magician and his brother as he glided down behind Ciato, “I also know that he’s probably the reason behind this. Still, I can’t let you kill him until we have some answers. Judging by the way he’s dressed, I figure he’s a stranger here like you, I, and Dan. That means he was probably supposed to be our team mate. I want to know why he betrayed us.”
“Because that’s what users do, Sei,” Ciato spoke plainly, his blank features turning into a sneer, “Observe.”
Ciato spun around and slammed Asterodeia deep into Sei’s heart.
He felt as the sword pierced through his flesh, tore through his skin and stopped half way in his body. He could feel the sick twist that Ciato gave his hilt, causing his rapier to rip his insides just a little more. He even felt it when Ciato, his own brother, withdrew the blade and slung his azure blood off of the sword. Sei fell to his knees, his eyes filled with tears and fighting just to stay open. He looked over at his older brother, his body bobbing to and fro wider and wider with each passing second.
“Why….? Sei asked his brother, though his ‘voice’ had gotten weak at this point, “Why betray me…for him….?”
“Is that what you think this is?” Ciato said, a laugh proceding the question, “That it’s one or the other? You’re both going to die here tonight Sei. The simple fact of the matter is that you were closer to my vicinity than he was. Rest assured, he will join you in the afterlife soon enough.” Ciato used his free hand to wipe his fingers through his hair, his body turning back around to face Touma.
“Ciato…,” Sei swallowed heavily, his body now falling completely on the ground, his hand reaching out towards his brother, “give me one reason to stay here….and I’ll turn right back around.” His arm was shaking violently as it stood dangling in the air for a few moments, hoping Ciato would turn back around and take it. He never would, and Sei would fall to the floor, dead.
“The only reason I’d want you still alive is to use you even further,” Ciato said smugly, walking slowly towards his next target. “But now that he’s gone, it’s time for the true crescendo to this wonderful melody!” The Mystic ignored Sei and the pool of blood forming under his kin like he had ignored the telepath all of his life. Why wouldn’t he? As far as Ciato was concerned, Sei was useless to him now.
Little did he know that he had now triggered a magic that was already in the process of working.
Sei’s death came as a surprise, but not as a shock. Touma’s expressionless gaze tracked the body as it slumped to the floor, and then flicked unerringly back to the killer.
Ciato had referred to the pair of them as ‘users’, and whilst Touma didn’t welcome the coarseness of the term he could certainly appreciate the intent. Just as Touma had used the Orlouges to gain information about the world they had wandered into and the rules by which they fought by, Ciato had used Sei as his shield and Touma to try and break it. From that point of view, Touma could understand Ciato’s disgust in labelling him as ‘useless’.
Ciato, you fool, he whispered in his mind, pitying the man for his impatience. There’s still far too much unknown, far too many loose ends.
And that, he supposed, was what defined and separated them despite their likeness. Ciato the noble had a hedonistic streak and a taste for the finer sensations in life – he lived for the now, delighting in his schemes as they ripened to fruition, exulting in the moment of his success. Touma on the other hand always kept a chessmaster's eye on the future, and valued above all else knowledge and the means to make effective use of said knowledge. The trait made him naturally more cautious... and naturally more of a survivor as well.
The Nipponese psy-mage had only made a single movement since the intrusion of the Orlouges upon the platform – to deal with the pinfeather projectile – but now he unfolded his legs from beneath his body and rose to his full, not inconsiderable height. His eyes remained calm and steady as he watched his opponent approach, ignoring the stray drops of blood streaming down the length of gleaming steel poised to strike. One hand went to the neck of the scabbard at his waist, loosening the sword there with a deft flick of his thumb. Tongue flickered between dry lips, tasting the stale tension that hung in the air.
Ciato chose to advance one deliberate step at a time, boots clipping loud and dramatic against the steel deck. The harpy’s carcass to his side gave off a distinctively heady death stench, exacerbated by its diet of human waste and fish from the bay, but Touma could not allow such distractions to corrupt his mind. He concentrated on eliminating them one by one: the puckering whistle of the wind as it assaulted the force-shield, the roiling disturbance of the smoggy cloud, the furry taste of ozone upon his tongue, the chill static of arcane power upon the hairs of his lower arm, the deathly quiet of Sei’s body lying upon the floor. What remained in the end was the stillness of zen, the concentration of a mind focused on a single stroke.
From what Touma had observed, Ciato had mastered a fencing approach typical of the western continent: artistic parries and swift ripostes, fancy feet and exquisite bladework. On paper the Nipponese had the longer blade, but the Orlouge could more than make up for that with one of the typically decisive lunges common to his style. Physical confrontations were not Touma’s forte, and he could tell that Ciato had worked that out by now.
And yet Touma settled into an unfavourably immobile crouch, right hand wrapping firmly about a leather-bound hilt.
In his mind’s eye he could see the reach of his blade, a misty red arc normally signifying the death of any who entered.
Apparently Ciato could as well, and a triumphant smirk marred his aristocratic features as he reached the same conclusion as the psy-mage.
Touma inhaled slowly.
Noted the last speck of azure – what a strange colour for blood – trailing down the nobleman’s blade.
Noted Ciato’s poise and balance, the perfection of his stance.
Noted the dance of his own shadow as it fell across the hatch leading below, the only safe exit for him from the platform, long since within the boundaries of Ciato’s control.
He had only the barest hint of warning when the blade flew tip-first towards his face.
Ciato Orlouge had spent his life familiar with two things; underhanded tactics and shadow magic. When he was younger, Ciato attempted to undergo the Light Trials that his Mystic race used as a sign of manhood, but failed the accomplish the tasks set before him by the trial. As a result, the nobleman went for the Shadow Trials, and had become familiar in the ways of the so-called ‘dark arts’. He had found a certain beauty in their unique move set, and the shadow-step, while not original, was a technique any basic Shadow Mystic learned rather quickly.
So when Touma’s sword came flying at the alabaster devil, Ciato should have acted purely out of instinct. He should have been able to thrust his sword up and deflect the blade. He should have been able to duck, and allowed Touma’s own weapon to finish him off. He should have been able to spin around and plant Asterodeia in his opponent’s heart like he had done to his brother less than two minutes before.
And yet, Ciato Orlouge did none of these things.
He let the blade fly at him, turning his body around to face the shadow-stepping Touma and widening his eyes. He could see the grin on his opponent’s face as he looked on. The weapon should have been buried in the back of Ciato’s neck, and the Mystics expression was reflecting that such actions had occurred. But then Ciato’s look of shock became his trademark sinister smile, and the sound of glass shattering filled the night sky.
The Mystic Protection was not that of the older Orlouge brother, but Sei’s. The spider web fractures in the glass shattered into shards, and fired forth from the body of Ciato in a dome like formation, slamming into Touma with a force great enough to cause the astral walker to stumble back. “I hope you honestly did not think that would work,” Ciato laughed, running his fingers through his hair.
“Especially when you didn’t confirm the kill…” the eerie mental ‘voice’ came from behind Touma.
Touma attempted to turn, to try and see that Sei’s body was still lifeless of the ground. Sei stood with a smile, looking directly at his foe as two large strands of seaweed shot up from the ground, binding Touma at the wrists. The wizard pulled at the vines, which did nothing but make the wrappings go tighter around the man’s appendages. Sei reached into his pocket, withdrawing one of his battle fans and fanning himself off as if he were hot.
“You have roughly six seconds to give us your name,” Sei spoke, his ‘voice’ sounding threatening, menacing.
“You don't need to know my name,” Touma spoke, attempting to remain calm despite his struggling against the makeshift shackles that proved otherwise, “All you need to know is that I deal in information, and I like to think I do so well.”
As Touma finished, a giant rock slammed onto the ground, right in front of the spell caster’s feet. The man looked upwards from where the small boulder came, looking in horror as a swirling cloud over his head began to grow larger. “Wrong answer.”
“I'm a mastermind, not a warrior,” Touma said, his tone starting to indicate obvious frustration, “Usually I have pawns to do my bidding, and mirrors to maintain control. It so happened that I was forced to improvise when I arrived here.”
Three boulders this time, landing all around Touma’s body, but never a direct hit on the man. Now, Ciato had joined Sei’s side, a grin upon the noble Mystic’s face as he watched his younger sibling use torture to interrogate his victim. Sei’s eyes shifted towards his bloodthirsty brother, taking note of how immersed Ciato was in the questioning, and suddenly the mute felt a pang in his stomach that told him something more important than Touma’s name.
His gut told him that this was wrong. No man deserved to be treated like this.
The mute waved his hands and the swirling cloud above Touma disappeared, the seaweed around his hands retracting back into the ground from whence it came. Ciato now turned to face his kin, an obvious anger upon his face. “Sei,” he spoke, a guttural growl working its way from his throat, “What the hell are you doing?!”
“If anything, working with you today has shown me something, Ciato,” Sei spoke, shifting his eyes to meet his brother’s own blue orbs, “The reason I was paired with you, Dan, and our mystery man here.” He looked back to Touma, an emotionless expression now painted across the mute’s face as he put his fan back up. “The goal here was never to kill this man. We were each put on this team because we all rub each other the wrong way. Even Dan, who would have probably attempted to use the broadest sense of my orders to obtain his own selfish ideals.”
“So?” Ciato questioned his brother, his grip growing decidedly tighter on his blade, “Get to the point, before I show you mine again!”
“The Adventurer’s Crown is about working as a team. What if our goal was not to fight one another to reach this tower, but to work together with one another to make it here?” Ciato’s eyes widened for a moment, only to shoot a more aggressive look back towards Touma, the nobleman’s face now a full-on scowl.
“Then we lost because he couldn’t obey the rules!” Ciato pointed his blade at Touma, only to have Sei place his hand on the steel to lower it.
“But he did,” Sei further explained, taking a couple of steps closer to the intently listening Touma.. “He provided the challenges, which we not only too care of, but took care of masterfully. You killed some of the patrols, but I believe between the two of us, we killed a lot more flying beasts. My guess is that we’re probably a hero to those people on that airship, and thus that town. By providing our foes for us, our man here prepared us for the worst[/i].”
Almost on queue, a white light began to shine beside the corpse of the harpy Ciato had killed. Now that Sei was starting to see the whole picture, it seemed as though Kenneth Stern was willing to let the adventurer’s finish the round. “After all, what’s an adventure without a little confrontation?” Sei shifted his eyes towards Touma, folding up his battle fan and placing it back in his pocket.
The mute extended a friendly hand towards the man, hoping he wasn’t wrong about this. “If we go through that door, we go through together. As a team. What do you say?”
He was uncertain if his question would be answered, but he was quite certain of two things. Thanks to this tournament, he already had a better understanding of his more sinister brother…
…And that Kenneth Stern was a sick, twisted little adventurer.
((This is Sei and Ciato’s last post. Twas fun working with you Wings. We need to do it more often.))
He made a show of rubbing his wrists in flustered relief, of staring suspiciously at Sei’s outstretched hand before accepting it in appreciation.
“As a team,” he replied at length with an enigmatic half-smile, carefully masking his thoughts beneath a layer – not wholly contrived – of gratitude. If Sei could project words into the minds of others, then there was no telling what he could read in return. “I am truly honoured by your confidence.”
Sei’s deductions bore all the hallmarks of truth, substantiated at least in part by what Touma himself had learnt via his mirror-gazing techniques. At the very least, Kenneth Stern seemed to be testing each of the groups: by grouping them in such a manner as to try their patience, by throwing them into battlefields that suited some but not others, by turning themselves into their own enemies. Perhaps, ultimately, the title of ‘user’ most befit the mysterious and illusory Mr. Stern.
And if the mute wanted to believe that Touma had acted with their best interests in mind, then so be it. It had always been long odds for the Nipponese to hope that he could eliminate a hero of such stature on his own, no matter how he masked the traces of his involvement.
Still, once rumbled, Touma found himself surprised to be let off so easily. True, he had never honestly thought that he could best anybody in single combat; true, he had always expected the infamous Sei to at least have a trick or two up his sleeve; true, he had banked on the younger brother to have greater clemency than the elder. On the other hand, he had acted from the beginning whilst bearing in mind Kayu’s information regarding the involvement of the death-defying Ai’Brone monks in such official tourneys, and Touma actually felt slightly disappointed that he had not been able to accept their mystical mercies in person.
He bowed to both Ciato and Sei, genuinely humbled. The encounter had served as a timely lesson: he could not yet hope to operate effectively when alone and in the open with no prior schemes in motion to put his faith in. He had much to improve upon before he could even begin to think of challenging the Disciples.
But he had also gained a considerable wealth of knowledge from his uncharacteristic recklessness. In terms of actual combat experience, he had learned that he could not rely upon his shadowstep as infallible when matched against a veteran practitioner, and that his blade as yet lacked the ability to disable powerful innate enchantments. In terms of his companions, he had learned much about the Orlouges: not only how they fought, but also a unique insight into why as well. And in the brief minutes of mirror-gazing across the island from the tower’s peak, he had seen much of the other contestants, information that would no doubt come in handy at a later stage.
Perhaps most importantly, he had not critically exposed himself to Sei and Ciato. They knew nought of his purpose or his ambitions, or of the knowledge he had gained whilst scrying. They had not even successfully learnt his name. He saw no benefit in prolonging the confrontation; from here on he only had advantages to lose.
And last but not least, Dan Lagh’ratham no longer participated alongside them.
All in all, he could not consider it a bad morning’s work. The path to the Book of Destiny still lay open before him.
Clear mirrors, still waters.
As they entered the portal to whatever awaited them next, Touma carefully concealed a small sinister smile.
(The pleasure was all mine, Sei. I hope it reads as enjoyably as it was to write!)
Round 1 closed for judgement.
Good luck!
Plot: (17)
Storytelling (5) – While the setting that you chose for your island was unique and interesting, it never really came into play in a way that used its unique properties. For how well it was used, the city’s advanced technology, airship, spire tower, and guards with dogs could have just as easily have been mundane technology, a ship, a spire tower, and guards with dogs. There wasn’t much that really jumped out of the story and elicited any excitement.
Setting (5) – Whispers, you did an excellent job of painting the scenes and giving life to the city. Unfortunately, Ciato and Sei focused more of their attention on the personal drama between the two of them and really added little to this category. Of the two of them, Ciato’s posts were better in this category.
Pacing (7) – All three of you maintained a solid flow to the story, with each post adding to it. The somewhat abstract nature of Touma’s scrying and the fast-forwarded flight to the airship for Sei and Ciato presented slight bumps in the overall flow, but still gave a smooth, solid story.
Character: (14)
Communication (5) – Whispers, your dialogue was short but elegant and very much enhanced your character’s image. Opposite that, nearly every word out of Ciato’s mouth was some sort of overly grandiose, braggadocios mockery and instead of giving the character a snide, evil feel it made him feel more like a parody of what his character was trying to be. Sei wasn’t much better, with a majority of his dialogue being confined to trailing Ciato around telling him that he better not do something, and then just telling him again when he did it anyways.
Action (5) – Whispers did the best job here putting life into Touma’s actions but Sei and Ciato weren’t as smooth and most of the action in this thread, while not necessarily bad, was very wooden and uninspired. Ciato’s actions pretty much involved “taunt, step, stab, repeat” throughout the thread, with every action being a completely uncontested deathblow. It was as if every guard and attack dog just stood there gaping as Ciato stepped up to dispatch their unmoving forms one by one. Even a master swordsman will have to feint and maneuver around a lesser opponent before finding an opening. Sei wasn’t much better, as the biggest action scenes that he had him taking out dozens of enemies with a single attack and a use of his deus-ex-glass shield. Relying on the same schtick for every encounter quickly makes for stale reading. The only issues Sei and Ciato had in this thread were one another and even that made absolutely no impact on the story. Vary it up a bit and actually round out a character as more than a single action plot device if you want to increase your score.
Persona (4) – Whispers your character seemed to have a rich, well-developed personality with both strengths and flaws and your presentation of them was very well done. Both Ciato and Sei, however, were very one dimensional. The only hint that Ciato had that there was anything more to his character than self-righteousness was his desire to see to Kyla’s safety and yet that was never expounded upon. It was mentioned alongside winning as a driving factor and yet Ciato continued his mindless, wanton slaughter for no reason. Sei, ever the paragon, was almost unbelievable in how nonchalantly he acts towards everything that he professes to be completely against. Sei’s unwillingness to do anything more to save the innocents that he’s so worried about except not-quite stop the slaughter after half of them are dead is completely at odds with what his character is professed to be. And then, in the final scene when Ciato “kills” Sei, Sei is resurrected and his first instinct is to completely ignore Ciato and the fact that Ciato just killed him. His level of coolheadedness is so extreme so often that it pulled me from my reading and broke the flow of the story.
Prose: (18)
Mechanics (7) – Aside from several minor errors and word confusions, there wasn’t much to lower your score in this area.
Clarity (5) – Whispers, the appearance of the Banshee to take out the Wyvern, while stylistic, wasn’t complete clear. And then there was the scene where Sei threw Ciato into a flock of demon flying things, Ciato who cannot fly, and just assumes that Ciato will be able to keep himself alive. I had to read that portion of the thread three times to make sure that I’d understood it correctly. The closeness of Ciato and Sei to the ship, the discussion of landing in the previous post (albeit saying that they hadn’t landed yet), and the general description of the avian threat storm didn’t lend itself well to a clear thread.
Technique (6) – There was some good, stylistic writing in this thread but Sei’s use of side notes in parenthesis was used too often in the thread and had become jarring, pulling me out of the flow of reading.
Wildcard: (3)
Total: 52
Whispers of Abyssion receives 520 exp and 85 gp.
Ciato Orlouge receives 390 exp and 60 gp.
Silence Sei receives 975 exp and 60 gp.
EXP-GP added.