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Post by Alchemist on Jun 21, 2014 5:31:41 GMT
-- Judge: Alchemist -- Setting can be requested from a judge -- Judge may impart random field effects --First post goes to Faustus. |
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Post by Faustus on Jun 23, 2014 5:21:32 GMT
-- Dreamspace -- Clouds seem unstable, but are actually more than capable of holding up the players. -- Dreamspace effect: The clouds become semi-real, and players will fall through. -- A realm of black and white: Everything in the realm is black and white. -- Dreamspace effect: Certain laws of physics can be ignored. Gravity is decreased by 30% as compared to Earth's. -- Nightmarescape: Every -four- turns the world contorts and reality seems to congeal. All prepping is halted, if a prep was set to mature as per the post this activates, it will be voided. Anyone attempting to prep after the Nightmarescape is active will be able to, but will suffer mana burn damage relative to amount of preps, but will also gain power in whatever they are prepping. -- Judge determines how long these effects last. |
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Post by Faustus on Jun 23, 2014 5:38:49 GMT
In a realm of grey, atop the tallest, lonely tower peaking up from the canopy of clouds, sat a man. The world seemed to flicker around him. As though it were trying to embrace him, but just could not muster the courage to attempt to show that affection.
He sat at a table, a plate before him, and his knife cut through the cake that lie on it as though it were cutting the air, and he brought the colorless, tasteless treat to his lips, and he savored the nothing.
He was wreathed in a black suit, his skin grey, and if you looked closely, a sliver of white could be made out from his sleeves that showed the trim of his white shirt. It fit him well. it all seemed to fall into place in this dreamland of black and white. His grey, colorless eyes came up from his plate, and to the monochrome sky in dreary contemplation. Whomevers mind he found himself in, it was not very different from Faustus' own.
There was another seat reserved across from Faustus, for his eagerly awaited guest. He pulled up a sleeve, and tapped the face of his watch twice. It was almost time. He reached into a pocket, and from it he pulled a blank notepad, and a pen, and scribbled sharp, neat, careful writing onto it, more than likely his signature.
Like this, he waited.
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Post by Sirius on Jun 23, 2014 15:13:46 GMT
The world was filled with black and white. Color was nothing but a metaphor. The dreamscape was devoid of any uniqueness. Puffy clouds rested on the sky, sturdy, yet giving off the assumption that the foundation would break at a moment’s notice. Bursting through the canopy of clouds was a lonely grey tower, old and rusty, yet staying strong.
Atop the highest peak of the tower, was a table accompanied with two chairs. One was occupied by a male in a suit, a chunk of his colorless cake popping into his mouth as he awaited the arrival of an expected guest.
And there he was.
Standing near the edge of the tower’s peak, appeared a man, his back to the table. He seemed to be looking straight to the skies devoid of color. Unlike the suited male before him, he didn’t quite look to be the gentleman type. His dark black hair that was now colorless reached down to his shoulder blades, his jacket swayed ever so slowly against a wind that wasn’t felt by the graying men. His faded jeans reached down to the top of his unsullied boots.
It continued like that for a few moments of complete silence. No movement from the male. Then, he turned his head over his shoulder. His soulless eyes bore into the male before him, analyzing him with caution. The scar that ran from beside his eye, all the way down to his jaw line was much more noticeable against the grey colors. His lips were straight, and once he finished his examination of the male and his features, his lips curled into a wide smile, followed by a chuckle.
“Room for one more?” The silence was broken by his sharp tongued whisper.
Before the answer could come from the man, he turned around fully, walking to the table and pulling out the empty chair. He sat down, placing both arms at the sides of his chair. For a moment, he just stared into the grey eyes of the male across from him. Trying to go into the depths of his soul, find his weaknesses. To his surprise and amusement, he could not seem to find any sort of chink in the armor.
Eventually, he simply looked down at the piece of pastry that was on his plate. He lifted his knife and fork, cutting a small chunk of it away with great ease.
“I am Sirius Nightshade,” he said just before he placed the tasteless piece into his mouth. He took a few seconds to chew, and swallow the taste of what could only be compared to air, “Most people think of me as a God. A powerful being. Most people would have run from me already. The ones that don’t, well…”
He placed his fork down, picking up another piece of cake and placing it effortlessly into his open mouth. He took a longer time to chew, to try to find some sort of savory flavor where there simply would not be any. Eventually, he swallowed, mildly unsatisfied.
“They don’t normally live too long.”
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Post by Alchemist on Jun 23, 2014 16:45:41 GMT
-Field Effect: Nightmarescape Active-
Any prepping is stopped for the duration of -one- turns. This means for the next turn for both players prepping is RECOMMENDED to not be done. However, prepping can be done at a cost. If anyone begins prepping while the Nightmarescape is active, it will take a total of two turns to mature that prep instead of one. They will receive afterburn damage relative to the power of the prep in question.
Manaburn: A situation in which a casters energy stores are depleted. Reworked for this situation, Manaburn is magical damage translated into physical damage.
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Post by Faustus on Jun 23, 2014 16:52:49 GMT
"Of course. I have actually been waiting a good bit for you in particular." Faustus outstretched a hand to the seat that sit behind the man in his turned away position at the same time that he began to move to sit. So his moving to answer his own question would not have seemed very strange to Faustus at all, if not a tad precognitive. But that was to be expected. The world contorted around them. Folded into itself over and over creating a dense keleidescopic view of the world. Colors darkened, and Faustus could feel his strength being sapped by the insanity of the Dreamscape. He shrugged the feeling off. The two locked stone-shaded eyes. A conversation was held in those moments. Silent, but saying more to each other than any words could have granted in that majesty. An unspoken, unmoving battle was being fought. Each searching for the others Achilles Heel. While the type of man Sirius was, was evident in all his apertures and facets; The sunken eyes, and the dark rings that formed underneath them. The manner with which he held himself. He was a man of great trepidation. A man of many pains, and many hates. Faustus on the other hand, would appear a canvas to the other. Blank, and ready to be made into a work of art. Ready to show all of his angles and colors, but at the moment, was nondescript in every sense of the word. It radiated something from him. Danger. Breaking the silence, he took a sip from his tea as the other man spoke with a reserved gulp. "Oh I know who you are. I know the type of man you are well. You are a false idol. Through whatever means, some people use fear, others love, you have used to gain that title as a God, you will be woefully sorry to find that I am the real deal." He rolled up a sleeve, showing the number one headband tied around his forearm. "This thing has been urging me to make sure I am the only one who holds the title of a 'God'." Faustus untied the band, and put it in his pocket, bringing his sleeve back down. "I don't care about your claims. Quite honestly? I don't even care about you. All I care about is the result, and I am not too picky about how I want to achieve it. You can leave. Right now. I wouldn't stop you, and I'd be just as happy to walk away without shedding any blood, and taking this victory for myself." Faustus brought another bite of cake to his mouth. "My advice? Walk away." Spellcraft(Taken from my first post. I forgot to mention it. it is not being prepped, just mentioned. |
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Post by Sirius on Jun 23, 2014 17:25:24 GMT
Sirius could vaguely feel his strength being drained away due to the dreamscape’s powerful mark. He shook it off without so much as a second thought. The world began to contort and colors darkened around them. After he had said what he had to say, he reserved a silence to allow the male across from him to take his turn at ranting to him.
He awaited for him to finish, his lips contorted into a barely noticeable smirk the entire time. It was simply amusing to him, the things that he was saying. He lifted his right hand up, swiftly brushing the colorless bangs away from his face. He brought that same hand back down to the table, grasping and taking a sip from a tasteless cup of tea. He could not even tell for sure whether it was hot or cold. This was most certainly an intriguing world. Once he finished his slow gulp, the crazed male began to speak once more.
“A false idol? Hm. Quite a ludicrous statement, if I do say so myself. Especially if it’s coming from the man who thinks he deserves such a title because he has a headband attached to his forearm. It’s true that I’ve gained this title from fear, but also from sheer destruction,” He began to work the knife into the cake in front of him, but stopped. He grumbled "This knife is beginning to agitate me," His hand reached down to his waist and he unsheathed the knife that was at his belt. He grasped the handle of his beloved knife and took Massacre from it's sheath swiftly and quietly, bringing it down onto the pastry to cut effortlessly into the cake once more, looking to soon take another bite as his voice grew in volume,
“ The poor souls that face me barely know what’s coming to them, before I stomp their face into the dirt. Or in this case, the clouds.”
He stopped for a moment as he looked to Massacre, the blade now riddled with cake pieces. Ultimately deciding he had to clean it off, he ran his tongue across the knife‘s sides, somehow or another not causing a wound as he ate the crumbs that he had licked off with delight. He then stabbed a bite of cake with his fork, popping it into his mouth and chewing it slowly, a longing expression on his face as he swallowed the bite.
“Oh, how long it’s been since I’ve had any pastry. Hah, It’s irrelevant that it has no taste whatsoever,” He scoffed and placed his fork down onto the napkin next to the plate, and turned his gaze forward once more, “You and I both know there is not a chance in hell that I will be walking away from this battle. The opportunity to test my strength against a so-called ‘God’ is enough to make me stick around for a while, I think~”
“Besides, a clash of two idols should be interesting, am I right?”
He leaned back on the chair that he sat on, telling himself that he was finished with the remainder of the cake that sat in front of him. He grabbed his cup of tea and took yet another sip, his eyes now paying explicit attention to the male’s reaction.
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Post by Faustus on Jun 23, 2014 17:51:23 GMT
"Strange defense, coming from a man who sought the same thing that rests in this pocket, and failed." He patted his pocket lightly, in a jesting motion, a twisted, malicious smile in place of a look of stoicism. "And I have to concur," he spoke between bites of cake. "A battle between two idols would be quite a sight, but there is a problem. There aren't two idols here. I only count one, and that's me. So what's that make you?"
Faustus rolled his eyes and sighed at the mans constant jabbering. His little attempts at jests and jabs were doing little to amuse Faustus, the same way that a child's bemusement would do little to sway an adult, because they just lacked the mental capacity to keep up. If he didn't move soon, the abaccus would come into play sooner than he had originally expected.
"Look.... Sirius was it? I love meeting in Dream realms and talking the evening away in stale repartee as much as the next guy, but I am a busy man, with lots to do. I am giving you one more chance to decide to stand, or to walk away. Pick one. Now."
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Post by Sirius on Jun 23, 2014 18:08:59 GMT
Sirius gulped down the rest of the tea in his colorless cup, before placing it down on the table. Picking up a napkin, he wiped his face of any errant cake crumbs that may have gotten on his lips. He then placed that down as well, and looked at the male across from him. It was obvious he was losing his patience. Quite frankly, Sirius was just as eager to stand up and fight. Why he had not already would forever be a mystery.
“Ah, a busy man,” He chuckled, pulling his chair out from underneath him, “I can relate to that profoundly.”
Graying shadows that formed next to the tower and lingering clouds began to move under their own accord. Due to Sirius’ mental command, these shadows changed matter into a flexible solid, deemed shadow form. These shadows did not instantaneously burst towards him, however, instead stagnating around the tower that the to men resided, growing in power and concentration silently.
Sirius chuckled, standing up from his chair and stepping back, pushing the chair neatly back where it was placed before he had arrived. His eyes never left that of Faustus. “It seems as though I must prove to you that there are in fact two idols, not just one, standing here in this dreamscape.”
He twirled the knife in his hand around impatiently, now awaiting for the male to stand up, and for the fight to officially commence.
"And I am not just going to walk away."
Shadow Form (0): Beginning to take shape and grow in power.
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Post by Faustus on Jun 23, 2014 18:20:37 GMT
There was no going back now. The man had made his decision, and henceforth, Faustus'. When Sirius stood up, Faustus did not. As the shadows would begin to coallesce and gather, to which Faustus surely took notice, he had made it a point to finish everything on his pallet first. He wiped the crumbs from his face with a napkin, and set it down on the table. Faustus knew Sirius wouldn't walk away, but it made him feel better to at least offer him the chance at life. For what purpose it made him feel better? Even he did not know. Perhaps there was an inkling of a consciounce left in the mind of a man who long ago cast morals and ethics out of the window. It didn't matter now. Act now. Contemplate later. In response to the shadow-forms coming into being, Faustus offered no fancy rebuttle. No flexing of his deep magical awareness or understanding, just a flash of silver. A scalpal, preturnaturally sharp was flung forward from the range between the two men, approximately just two feet or so, reduced to about one if you'd take the length of his fully outstretched arm into the equation, aimed directly for his chest. The solar plexis' to be exact. At the same time that he moved his arm to launch his flechette, he had also begun standing up, using his calves to push his chair back to offer him some space. He was now standing erect, and ready to react to whatever the man of shadows had planned for him up under one of his sleeves. Faustus' fists clenched two things. In his right hand, a second scalpel, twirling. In the other, that strange note with his signature scribbled onto it. A strange power emanating from it within his fist. Spellcraft[1] |
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