Session 118: Have You The Faith To Fulfill Their Legacy
Previously, Across the Horizon...
The mysteries of Alterna are many, and the Fate of the Researchers has been added to that ever-growing list.
Within the crumbling walls of Brasge University, six researchers carry out the last few minutes of their lives, forever repeating the actions that preceded their untimely demise when the Great Crystal shattered, unleashing change throughout Ducorde and death and destruction within Alterna.
Our brave adventurers discovered previously-unheard truths about the ancient empire. Alterna's lust for dark matter to fuel their alchemy was so great that upon discovering the existence of worlds beyond Ducorde, they gained access to those worlds and relieved them of their dark matter. What precisely happened to those worlds after, Yves is as yet unclear, but at least one of those worlds held Asura, prior to the Queen of the Eidolons being imprisoned inside the Starfall's engine.
While sixty percent of the group would be happy to stay for hours inside the bones of a building asking questions of people who could only answer with twelve words every twenty or so minutes, the Heart of Sabik is unlikely to find itself, and the rest of Alterna calls out for exploration.
With so much of the ancient city left to discover, we join our brave adventurers as they leave the university behind them...
**
"Who do you think you would have been?" Isa asks, not directed at anyone in particular.
"Wasn't the whole point that it was decided for you? Whatever you thought on the matter." Bast, as ever, is looking out for trouble.
Isa nods, equally vigilant. "Why I didn't ask who you'd want to be."
"I wonder if people just accepted it like we accept the choice..." Orrey ponders.
"What else could you do?" Isa counters.
"Live very unhappily? Refuse to be anything in particular?" Orrey answers with questions.
Bast's shoulders twitch up minutely. "Depends on how the Crystal decided these things then, and I know about as much about that as what's going on back there." He jerks a thumb back over his shoulder. "If it was about what you're good at...tinkering, fixing things, putting them back together better if I could. If it was out to screw me, probably farming somewhere."
The last hour has not marked a wild change for Alterna, especially considering the last near-three hundred years. The sky remains clear. There is no birdsong, no chittering of squirrels, no buzzing of bite bugs. Alterna is deathly silent, save the adventurers' conversation.
"I would probably be a mushroom farmer, but I'm not quite sure how that worked in the Great Crystal days," Yves says, not looking up from his second flip-through of the book on alchemy. "Sometimes I'm not quite sure how anyone becomes what they become these days, either. So often it's just... what your parents did, or wanted you to do, or taught you to do, anyway. Not for everyone. But for a lot of people. Isn't it?"
"Mm," Isa says. "That's how it is for us...mainly. I've always known what I was going to be." Her opinion of this situation does not make it through the helmet.
"With the expansion of educational institutions and apprenticeship placements, options have really opened up," Orrey says. "At least in Saron," he adds.
"Mostly is", Bast replies to Yves. "And then you meet a bunch of strangers on a train..."
"And it's really not clear if the Great Crystal was doing things according to talent, or proximity, or possibility, or--well, I don't get the impression it was doing a lot of optimizing for individual fulfillment, but I don't know if it was aiming for societal fulfillment either. I mean. Was it really aiming for things? It must have not unbalanced matters too much, because society did continue, it didn't all fall apart because everyone was assigned street-sweeping and no one was giving instructions to cook, but... I don't know." Yves looks up at last. "I don't think that nothing ever really changes, but sometimes it's hard to know how much has changed for individuals when looking at it from a really big distance, isn't it? Like trying to figure out what everyone in a town reads when you're looking down at roofs from atop a tower. They could all love romances or treatises on butter or historical adventures, but the roofs look the same, and the people do the same work, even though the insides of their heads are different, and... and sometimes you meet strangers on a train. Yes." He clears his throat, a lop ear twitching slightly. "Anyway."
Bast stops in his tracks and turns to Yves. "Did someone actually write a treatise on butter?"
"Oh yes," Yves says. "There's more than one. There are some competing theories about which type of milk was first used for butter production, and--look, it's not my sort of thing, but there was this coworker who would just go on about it sometimes."
"Huh." With another long look and a shake of his head, Bast turns back to scanning the ruins around the party.
(Linnet's just giggling and trying not to interject on technically minded cookbooks.)
"I figure I wouldn't have changed much, but Scholar sounds very boring to get locked into. As an Astrologian, I get to fling stars around and try not to drop my cards, and, well, White Magic is more of a practically minded discipline. Red Magic wouldn't have even made sense unless I actually made it out of Saine, which would be by no means guaranteed."
Isa goes "Hmm," and quiets again.
The juncture of the city’s arteries offers up tantalizing possibilities. Behind them, Brasge University stands, its inhabitants locked in an endless cycle of death and despair. Before them the unsettling forest hides their ship from easy view. To the southeast, the wreckage of the tower to the Twelve lies strewn about what structures remain, most of the tower lost to the sea below when Orrey lost himself to Dobverat’s grace. Past it, further south, the never-explored train station that may have once held the elder Alyon captive awaits, further away from their new goal, once again emphasizing Orrey’s choice between adventure and family. The fallen ziggurat, still pumping water from within through unknown means, slowly being choked to death by the foliage growing from its tiered sides. A museum ravaged by centuries of neglect, its view of Alternan history hidden away behind its toppled pillars.
"So I figure there's not much left of the tower, after our little adventure earlier, and we probably don't want to alert anyone at the train station just yet. Figure it's a choice between the museum and the...pyramid?" Bast gestures vaguely. "With all the water. Museum's probably good for history, pyramid for completing Yves' water feature."
"I like museums, though it'll probably be horrifying," Yves offers. "...although now that you say that about the pyramid. Huh."
"Which one's more likely to get us what we need?" Isa asks, efficiently.
"Museum. Usually has more accessible and understandable information," Orrey says.
"Alright, let's go dig up some answers." Bast forges ahead.
"...you may have to haul me out of there," Linnet warns. Eric/Isa — 08/24/2022 "If you're good we'll stop at the gift shop on the way out," Isa offers.
"The gift shop is probably horrifying too," Yves murmurs, mostly to himself.
The path to the museum takes them past a grand fountain. Fully two-thirds of the fountain is missing, collapsed into the sea below. Gaps in the rocks show the churning waves a hundred yards beneath their feet.
Debris of ages long past litters the approach to the museum. Scraps of robes ripped to shreds pinned beneath boulders, discolored outlines of faded stains that resisted any storms. Dead branches and decaying leaves circle an uneven hole in the ground. Three sets of discarded armor lie in a heap in front of the stone stairs.
Isa gestures to the armor with the spear. "Exhibit, or unfortunate souls?"
Bast crouches by the armor to get a better look at how it was made, flexing the joints and examining what's left of the lining.
The finest armor fetches a high price, as Bast well knows from past experience. Armor this good would only be granted by the rich and the powerful. Of the three sets, one stands out far more than the others, though not due to jewels or lavish designs, but due to the quality of the craftwork; the product of an artisan, not just a quality smith.
"If this wasn't an exhibit, their guards had some damn fine armor. Seems excessive for keeping order at a museum, unless showing off was the point." Bast makes a face.
"Escorting someone important, maybe." Isa looks at the stairs. "Maybe someone who needed to check on something in the face of disaster."
"Should we take it with us?" Orrey asks, in full on 'archaeologist' mode.
Isa points out, "Authentic Imperial armor is worth a lot to the right collector."
Bast taps a breastplate. "This one here? I bet Artemicion would want to see it. It'll probably keep until we're done inside, though."
"Gift shop," Isa chuckles.
"The more disaster archaeology we do here, the less piracy we'll need to do later, probably," Yves says, having found an ethical inroad to this decision.
The breastplate shines despite the centuries. Bast's reflection in the armor wobbles...probably due to the fact that the armor is moving.
Bast jumps back, grabbing the crossbow. "Look out!" Amanda/Linnet — 08/24/2022 "Exactly where were you planning on haul..." Linnet trails off. "Oh, not again."
Yves makes a dubious yet intrigued noise while stepping back behind Isa.
Isa holds an arm out in front of Yves, and looks up to gauge her vertical clearance.
"Everything here is going to be weird, isn't it." Orrey sighs and checks the time.
The pieces of the armor rattle and clank against themselves as they form up into three distinct suits, rusted swords and bent shields rising to strike defensive postures. The shining knight's sword shows no signs of wear.
"Yeah, probably, but at least this is more like ghost weird and not sad captive forces of strange will and intelligence weird, probably?" Yves says sympathetically to Orrey.
Orrey knows what Isa is about to do, watching in his mind's eye what's about to happen.
Isa takes a deep breath as the arm in front of Yves glows briefly white. When the link fades to a dim glow, she starts running forward, using a block of debris as a launching point to send her airborne. The Frost-Fair Blade is already leaving a sparkling trail of fine ice crystals to mark her trajectory.
"I mean, I'm pretty sure they're ghosts, or ghost-like, and definitely not in need of negotiation," Yves finishes up in a low voice to himself, as he unleashes a testing sort of lightning strike on the fanciest armor ahead. Just a nice little Thundaga, nothing to write home about. (He generally does not send letters home about his combat experiences, anyway.)
The fanciest armor responds to the lightning with a thunderous swing of its sword, striking the mage in return, though the mage is inexplicably none the worse for wear.
"Ow?" Yves says. "I mean. Not ow, I guess." (The armor does not respond.)
Linnet pulls a card, manages not to drop it (barely), looks at it, and grimaces. "Well, that's useless." Instead, she pushes her free hand skyward and springs her fingers outward, throwing stars across the battlefield. For now, they hover in wait.
Bast, for once, doesn't seem to have an array of gadgets already warmed up and ready to go. Still taken aback and muttering something about overactive exhibits, he goes for the tried and true expedient of crossbow bolts to the fa- abdomen.
Orrey, about to cast a spell, glances around at the fallen armor and pulls out the Armageddon instead, firing at the remaining suit. A sharp pinging sound emerges from a bullet hole in the breastplate.
The animated suit of armor tumbles down, still holding its form even as the other two simpler suits crumble into a pile of scrap metal.
"O, divine light! Send us from our sins!"
It rises again.
And this time, it is not empty.
The figure that fills the armor is feminine in appearance, blue silk connecting the breastplate with the gauntlets, a full facemask with a helmet of gold extending back in the mold of a braid. The sword that extends out in its right hand is broad, pink, and sparking with electricity. Wings of knives erupt from its back, and its legs end in metal spikes.
Linnet's eyes are the size of saucers. "Whoooooooaaaaa."
"--oh, huh, maybe now they want to talk?" Yves offers.
"That doesn't look like a talking outfit to me!" Bast bites off while reloading.
The sword raises, and Hallowed Bolts of divine power rain down from the heavens into Orrey and Yves, searing the air in their wake.
Orrey had a funny feeling he'd be the target of an attack today. He quickly responds by winding his watch backwards, sending a glowing clockface out to swirl in unison under the Angelic Knight.
"...oh that's gotta hurt," Yves mutters, looking upward sheepishly.
Maybe it's the Holy bolts she absorbed. Maybe it's the suddenly transmogrified target. Maybe it's just a bad day. Whatever the cause, Isa's off-target, and the armored foe all but bats her away as she descends. She goes skidding off across the plaza, dragging the blade of her spear across the stone to slow herself. "...fuck."
The winged knight stalks toward the party. Her steps may be further apart than they would be in her prime, but it just creates an aura of stalking. Hunting.
"Not. Arguing." Isa says to someone, as she gets back on her feet.
"...Isa, who are you talking to?" Linnet looks worried.
"If you want to talk, we're listening," Yves says brightly to the approaching knight, "but if you don't, I mean, we're pretty serious about not getting stabbed, too, so... let's all keep an open mind about our options here!" His current option appears to involve another handful of lightning sketched out and flung toward--more or less the same target as before, 'same' being a flexible adjective right now.
The lightning bolt sails wide. She does not adjust her gait or her position as she approaches.
"...ow," Yves mutters, in anticipation.
Linnet shakes out of her starstruck daze and throws something like a bolt of blue fire at the walking armor. The armor bends out of the missile's path. "The hell?"
Bast slides a canister into the advancing enemy's path, and as it's demolished underfoot, lightning arcs up the armor and grounds off the tip of the sword it is holding.
Orrey watched Isa's plummeting strike with the anticipation of a massive hit on the Stalking Angel; his eyes widened as he saw it shrug off the hit as if it were nothing. "Isa, I hope this helps!" Orrey conjures a pair of shiny eyeglasses that merges with Isa's helmet.
"Hark! The screams of ruin rise above the storm's discord. Shudder not in her endless cold."
"Oh no," Yves says, "poetic metaphors! I think that's a bad sign."
"Is that a reference to the Thundara?" Orrey wonders out loud.
Motes of light orbit Orrey for the instant preceding the smite of the sword.
Orrey is done worrying about metaphors and crumples in pain instead, then follows up with another clock launch from the ground, firing out a second Slowing on the Angelic swordsperson.
Isa doesn't jump. She doesn't stalk. She runs, spear held wide to the side, directly at her foe. The Frost-Fair Blade glows blue in anticipation, and the air crackles around it with the cold.
Even without the assistance of gravity, Isa still hits hard. She grabs the butt of the spear with her right hand to bring it in a wide sweeping arc as she charges, digging into a gap in the armor before her shoulder crashes in afterwards.
"I'm, uh, I'm not sure I'm following your line of argument," Yves says, raising his voice to more clearly direct it toward the advancing angelic doom. "But if you don't want to fight, maybe indicate that now while there's still time? ...no? Well, uh, make an indication any time! Just let us know!" He sketches out a series of lines in the air, all swift sharp angles that come ablaze on their way toward the angel-knight.
...'toward' being the operative word, perhaps, rather than 'surrounding' or 'with great impact upon'.
The angelic knight and Isa circle each other, sword and spear to the side, ready to strike at a moment's notice.
A fireball explodes in the distance between them. Neither acknowledges it.
Linnet glares at the card in her hand, points it at Orrey, and watches it dissolve in a shower of sparkles. He looks a little better.
Then, she pulls another card, fumbles it, and stares at it with an eyebrow raised. "Hm. Interesting."
Bast, clearly unsatisfied with the bit of lightning unleashed earlier, pulls something from a pocket and flings it on the ground in front of the advancing...knight? The something pops up into the air, three thin legs spearing out into the ground for a solid hold and a nozzle extending from the side.
When the stream of fire subsides, the angelic knight's sword burns with the same flames.
Orrey, starting to get some of that battle rage going, gets up and dusts himself off. He stares down the winged suit as he pulls out his watch. “I don’t think you understand the gravity of our mission,” he puns unabashedly, firing out a dark purple bubble of spacetime that makes an odd blipping sound as it approaches, and then finally opens up into a sucking vortex of gravitational chaos.
The angelic knight's sword warps the very light as she readies her next strike.
To be continued...
The mysteries of Alterna are many, and the Fate of the Researchers has been added to that ever-growing list.
Within the crumbling walls of Brasge University, six researchers carry out the last few minutes of their lives, forever repeating the actions that preceded their untimely demise when the Great Crystal shattered, unleashing change throughout Ducorde and death and destruction within Alterna.
Our brave adventurers discovered previously-unheard truths about the ancient empire. Alterna's lust for dark matter to fuel their alchemy was so great that upon discovering the existence of worlds beyond Ducorde, they gained access to those worlds and relieved them of their dark matter. What precisely happened to those worlds after, Yves is as yet unclear, but at least one of those worlds held Asura, prior to the Queen of the Eidolons being imprisoned inside the Starfall's engine.
While sixty percent of the group would be happy to stay for hours inside the bones of a building asking questions of people who could only answer with twelve words every twenty or so minutes, the Heart of Sabik is unlikely to find itself, and the rest of Alterna calls out for exploration.
With so much of the ancient city left to discover, we join our brave adventurers as they leave the university behind them...
**
"Who do you think you would have been?" Isa asks, not directed at anyone in particular.
"Wasn't the whole point that it was decided for you? Whatever you thought on the matter." Bast, as ever, is looking out for trouble.
Isa nods, equally vigilant. "Why I didn't ask who you'd want to be."
"I wonder if people just accepted it like we accept the choice..." Orrey ponders.
"What else could you do?" Isa counters.
"Live very unhappily? Refuse to be anything in particular?" Orrey answers with questions.
Bast's shoulders twitch up minutely. "Depends on how the Crystal decided these things then, and I know about as much about that as what's going on back there." He jerks a thumb back over his shoulder. "If it was about what you're good at...tinkering, fixing things, putting them back together better if I could. If it was out to screw me, probably farming somewhere."
The last hour has not marked a wild change for Alterna, especially considering the last near-three hundred years. The sky remains clear. There is no birdsong, no chittering of squirrels, no buzzing of bite bugs. Alterna is deathly silent, save the adventurers' conversation.
"I would probably be a mushroom farmer, but I'm not quite sure how that worked in the Great Crystal days," Yves says, not looking up from his second flip-through of the book on alchemy. "Sometimes I'm not quite sure how anyone becomes what they become these days, either. So often it's just... what your parents did, or wanted you to do, or taught you to do, anyway. Not for everyone. But for a lot of people. Isn't it?"
"Mm," Isa says. "That's how it is for us...mainly. I've always known what I was going to be." Her opinion of this situation does not make it through the helmet.
"With the expansion of educational institutions and apprenticeship placements, options have really opened up," Orrey says. "At least in Saron," he adds.
"Mostly is", Bast replies to Yves. "And then you meet a bunch of strangers on a train..."
"And it's really not clear if the Great Crystal was doing things according to talent, or proximity, or possibility, or--well, I don't get the impression it was doing a lot of optimizing for individual fulfillment, but I don't know if it was aiming for societal fulfillment either. I mean. Was it really aiming for things? It must have not unbalanced matters too much, because society did continue, it didn't all fall apart because everyone was assigned street-sweeping and no one was giving instructions to cook, but... I don't know." Yves looks up at last. "I don't think that nothing ever really changes, but sometimes it's hard to know how much has changed for individuals when looking at it from a really big distance, isn't it? Like trying to figure out what everyone in a town reads when you're looking down at roofs from atop a tower. They could all love romances or treatises on butter or historical adventures, but the roofs look the same, and the people do the same work, even though the insides of their heads are different, and... and sometimes you meet strangers on a train. Yes." He clears his throat, a lop ear twitching slightly. "Anyway."
Bast stops in his tracks and turns to Yves. "Did someone actually write a treatise on butter?"
"Oh yes," Yves says. "There's more than one. There are some competing theories about which type of milk was first used for butter production, and--look, it's not my sort of thing, but there was this coworker who would just go on about it sometimes."
"Huh." With another long look and a shake of his head, Bast turns back to scanning the ruins around the party.
(Linnet's just giggling and trying not to interject on technically minded cookbooks.)
"I figure I wouldn't have changed much, but Scholar sounds very boring to get locked into. As an Astrologian, I get to fling stars around and try not to drop my cards, and, well, White Magic is more of a practically minded discipline. Red Magic wouldn't have even made sense unless I actually made it out of Saine, which would be by no means guaranteed."
Isa goes "Hmm," and quiets again.
The juncture of the city’s arteries offers up tantalizing possibilities. Behind them, Brasge University stands, its inhabitants locked in an endless cycle of death and despair. Before them the unsettling forest hides their ship from easy view. To the southeast, the wreckage of the tower to the Twelve lies strewn about what structures remain, most of the tower lost to the sea below when Orrey lost himself to Dobverat’s grace. Past it, further south, the never-explored train station that may have once held the elder Alyon captive awaits, further away from their new goal, once again emphasizing Orrey’s choice between adventure and family. The fallen ziggurat, still pumping water from within through unknown means, slowly being choked to death by the foliage growing from its tiered sides. A museum ravaged by centuries of neglect, its view of Alternan history hidden away behind its toppled pillars.
"So I figure there's not much left of the tower, after our little adventure earlier, and we probably don't want to alert anyone at the train station just yet. Figure it's a choice between the museum and the...pyramid?" Bast gestures vaguely. "With all the water. Museum's probably good for history, pyramid for completing Yves' water feature."
"I like museums, though it'll probably be horrifying," Yves offers. "...although now that you say that about the pyramid. Huh."
"Which one's more likely to get us what we need?" Isa asks, efficiently.
"Museum. Usually has more accessible and understandable information," Orrey says.
"Alright, let's go dig up some answers." Bast forges ahead.
"...you may have to haul me out of there," Linnet warns. Eric/Isa — 08/24/2022 "If you're good we'll stop at the gift shop on the way out," Isa offers.
"The gift shop is probably horrifying too," Yves murmurs, mostly to himself.
The path to the museum takes them past a grand fountain. Fully two-thirds of the fountain is missing, collapsed into the sea below. Gaps in the rocks show the churning waves a hundred yards beneath their feet.
Debris of ages long past litters the approach to the museum. Scraps of robes ripped to shreds pinned beneath boulders, discolored outlines of faded stains that resisted any storms. Dead branches and decaying leaves circle an uneven hole in the ground. Three sets of discarded armor lie in a heap in front of the stone stairs.
Isa gestures to the armor with the spear. "Exhibit, or unfortunate souls?"
Bast crouches by the armor to get a better look at how it was made, flexing the joints and examining what's left of the lining.
The finest armor fetches a high price, as Bast well knows from past experience. Armor this good would only be granted by the rich and the powerful. Of the three sets, one stands out far more than the others, though not due to jewels or lavish designs, but due to the quality of the craftwork; the product of an artisan, not just a quality smith.
"If this wasn't an exhibit, their guards had some damn fine armor. Seems excessive for keeping order at a museum, unless showing off was the point." Bast makes a face.
"Escorting someone important, maybe." Isa looks at the stairs. "Maybe someone who needed to check on something in the face of disaster."
"Should we take it with us?" Orrey asks, in full on 'archaeologist' mode.
Isa points out, "Authentic Imperial armor is worth a lot to the right collector."
Bast taps a breastplate. "This one here? I bet Artemicion would want to see it. It'll probably keep until we're done inside, though."
"Gift shop," Isa chuckles.
"The more disaster archaeology we do here, the less piracy we'll need to do later, probably," Yves says, having found an ethical inroad to this decision.
The breastplate shines despite the centuries. Bast's reflection in the armor wobbles...probably due to the fact that the armor is moving.
Bast jumps back, grabbing the crossbow. "Look out!" Amanda/Linnet — 08/24/2022 "Exactly where were you planning on haul..." Linnet trails off. "Oh, not again."
Yves makes a dubious yet intrigued noise while stepping back behind Isa.
Isa holds an arm out in front of Yves, and looks up to gauge her vertical clearance.
"Everything here is going to be weird, isn't it." Orrey sighs and checks the time.
The pieces of the armor rattle and clank against themselves as they form up into three distinct suits, rusted swords and bent shields rising to strike defensive postures. The shining knight's sword shows no signs of wear.
"Yeah, probably, but at least this is more like ghost weird and not sad captive forces of strange will and intelligence weird, probably?" Yves says sympathetically to Orrey.
Orrey knows what Isa is about to do, watching in his mind's eye what's about to happen.
Isa takes a deep breath as the arm in front of Yves glows briefly white. When the link fades to a dim glow, she starts running forward, using a block of debris as a launching point to send her airborne. The Frost-Fair Blade is already leaving a sparkling trail of fine ice crystals to mark her trajectory.
"I mean, I'm pretty sure they're ghosts, or ghost-like, and definitely not in need of negotiation," Yves finishes up in a low voice to himself, as he unleashes a testing sort of lightning strike on the fanciest armor ahead. Just a nice little Thundaga, nothing to write home about. (He generally does not send letters home about his combat experiences, anyway.)
The fanciest armor responds to the lightning with a thunderous swing of its sword, striking the mage in return, though the mage is inexplicably none the worse for wear.
"Ow?" Yves says. "I mean. Not ow, I guess." (The armor does not respond.)
Linnet pulls a card, manages not to drop it (barely), looks at it, and grimaces. "Well, that's useless." Instead, she pushes her free hand skyward and springs her fingers outward, throwing stars across the battlefield. For now, they hover in wait.
Bast, for once, doesn't seem to have an array of gadgets already warmed up and ready to go. Still taken aback and muttering something about overactive exhibits, he goes for the tried and true expedient of crossbow bolts to the fa- abdomen.
Orrey, about to cast a spell, glances around at the fallen armor and pulls out the Armageddon instead, firing at the remaining suit. A sharp pinging sound emerges from a bullet hole in the breastplate.
The animated suit of armor tumbles down, still holding its form even as the other two simpler suits crumble into a pile of scrap metal.
"O, divine light! Send us from our sins!"
It rises again.
And this time, it is not empty.
The figure that fills the armor is feminine in appearance, blue silk connecting the breastplate with the gauntlets, a full facemask with a helmet of gold extending back in the mold of a braid. The sword that extends out in its right hand is broad, pink, and sparking with electricity. Wings of knives erupt from its back, and its legs end in metal spikes.
Linnet's eyes are the size of saucers. "Whoooooooaaaaa."
"--oh, huh, maybe now they want to talk?" Yves offers.
"That doesn't look like a talking outfit to me!" Bast bites off while reloading.
The sword raises, and Hallowed Bolts of divine power rain down from the heavens into Orrey and Yves, searing the air in their wake.
Orrey had a funny feeling he'd be the target of an attack today. He quickly responds by winding his watch backwards, sending a glowing clockface out to swirl in unison under the Angelic Knight.
"...oh that's gotta hurt," Yves mutters, looking upward sheepishly.
Maybe it's the Holy bolts she absorbed. Maybe it's the suddenly transmogrified target. Maybe it's just a bad day. Whatever the cause, Isa's off-target, and the armored foe all but bats her away as she descends. She goes skidding off across the plaza, dragging the blade of her spear across the stone to slow herself. "...fuck."
The winged knight stalks toward the party. Her steps may be further apart than they would be in her prime, but it just creates an aura of stalking. Hunting.
"Not. Arguing." Isa says to someone, as she gets back on her feet.
"...Isa, who are you talking to?" Linnet looks worried.
"If you want to talk, we're listening," Yves says brightly to the approaching knight, "but if you don't, I mean, we're pretty serious about not getting stabbed, too, so... let's all keep an open mind about our options here!" His current option appears to involve another handful of lightning sketched out and flung toward--more or less the same target as before, 'same' being a flexible adjective right now.
The lightning bolt sails wide. She does not adjust her gait or her position as she approaches.
"...ow," Yves mutters, in anticipation.
Linnet shakes out of her starstruck daze and throws something like a bolt of blue fire at the walking armor. The armor bends out of the missile's path. "The hell?"
Bast slides a canister into the advancing enemy's path, and as it's demolished underfoot, lightning arcs up the armor and grounds off the tip of the sword it is holding.
Orrey watched Isa's plummeting strike with the anticipation of a massive hit on the Stalking Angel; his eyes widened as he saw it shrug off the hit as if it were nothing. "Isa, I hope this helps!" Orrey conjures a pair of shiny eyeglasses that merges with Isa's helmet.
"Hark! The screams of ruin rise above the storm's discord. Shudder not in her endless cold."
"Oh no," Yves says, "poetic metaphors! I think that's a bad sign."
"Is that a reference to the Thundara?" Orrey wonders out loud.
Motes of light orbit Orrey for the instant preceding the smite of the sword.
Orrey is done worrying about metaphors and crumples in pain instead, then follows up with another clock launch from the ground, firing out a second Slowing on the Angelic swordsperson.
Isa doesn't jump. She doesn't stalk. She runs, spear held wide to the side, directly at her foe. The Frost-Fair Blade glows blue in anticipation, and the air crackles around it with the cold.
Even without the assistance of gravity, Isa still hits hard. She grabs the butt of the spear with her right hand to bring it in a wide sweeping arc as she charges, digging into a gap in the armor before her shoulder crashes in afterwards.
"I'm, uh, I'm not sure I'm following your line of argument," Yves says, raising his voice to more clearly direct it toward the advancing angelic doom. "But if you don't want to fight, maybe indicate that now while there's still time? ...no? Well, uh, make an indication any time! Just let us know!" He sketches out a series of lines in the air, all swift sharp angles that come ablaze on their way toward the angel-knight.
...'toward' being the operative word, perhaps, rather than 'surrounding' or 'with great impact upon'.
The angelic knight and Isa circle each other, sword and spear to the side, ready to strike at a moment's notice.
A fireball explodes in the distance between them. Neither acknowledges it.
Linnet glares at the card in her hand, points it at Orrey, and watches it dissolve in a shower of sparkles. He looks a little better.
Then, she pulls another card, fumbles it, and stares at it with an eyebrow raised. "Hm. Interesting."
Bast, clearly unsatisfied with the bit of lightning unleashed earlier, pulls something from a pocket and flings it on the ground in front of the advancing...knight? The something pops up into the air, three thin legs spearing out into the ground for a solid hold and a nozzle extending from the side.
When the stream of fire subsides, the angelic knight's sword burns with the same flames.
Orrey, starting to get some of that battle rage going, gets up and dusts himself off. He stares down the winged suit as he pulls out his watch. “I don’t think you understand the gravity of our mission,” he puns unabashedly, firing out a dark purple bubble of spacetime that makes an odd blipping sound as it approaches, and then finally opens up into a sucking vortex of gravitational chaos.
The angelic knight's sword warps the very light as she readies her next strike.
To be continued...
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