Re: The Vivacious Deadlock: S3G6: Round One: Genreshift
10-08-2011, 04:44 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by fluxus.
The simple fabric of his robes blew listlessly in the wind as Ivan stared out through the gash in the side of Matic’s castle. Where once had been solid fortification- wood, rock, and stone- now gaped an open wound, exposing the castle’s innards for all the world to see. Matic was dead, or at least Ivan hoped he was. Even for an arch wizard, surviving a fall from such a height seemed highly unlikely. And Ivan should know, shouldn’t he? After all, he was Matic’s apprentice. Or he had been.
Rain poured in through the massive hole, pooling between twisted floorboards and soaking through Matic’s works- all the things he and Ivan had spent months analyzing. It didn’t matter now if their research was ruined. Matic was dead and the Tome was likely to be as mangled as the rest of the tower- if it even existed at all. Ivan nudged a broken bit of glass out of the hole with the toe of his shoe and watched it spiral towards the ground. They’d been so close. Ivan had been close. He’d finally been able to pinpoint the source of the energies that were causing the universal shifts. He’d found a sort of code made out of some intricate and archaic magics that no one had thought to look for in sequence. It was deeply rooted in the Tome behind a hell of a lot of wards and it had taken ages to unbind. But they’d finally managed it. He and Matic could’ve harnessed those energies, even prevented their effects. And right now Ivan could’ve been holding the title of ‘Wizard’. Unfortunately, however, it seemed that in the last fifteen minutes he‘d even lost his apprenticeship.
Or maybe he'd never been an apprentice. Or half an elf. He’d been a detective once- and someone from another planet. And Matic had been a criminal, that much was certain. Turning weary eyes towards a sky that was now a sea of banded clouds, dark energy, and hammering rain, Ivan made a noble attempt at putting his memories in order. This had been, arguably, the longest night of his life and exhaustion was beginning to take its toll. It felt like all the versions of himself he’d encountered throughout the night were fighting for precedence over one another… leaving him with nothing more than a headache and something of an identity crisis.
In the bailey below Nalzaki and a knight were at each other’s throats, a clashing of fire and ice that Ivan could feel even at his distance. He wondered if by some coincidence the fire-wielding knight was another of the eight contestants, but decided quickly that it didn’t matter. The battle he was observing belonged solely to Nalzaki and he wasn’t going to get involved. Resigned to leave the hydra to its fate, Ivan removed his wand from its pocket within his robes, the weight of it reassuring and strangely familiar.
The city was falling apart. Cascala’s wrath still careened overhead, smashed bits of ruble and people mingling with the rain. Ivan had watched her climb through the air mere moments after Matic’s suicide, her pretty face contorted into something inhuman . He’d seen her break apart an already broken city and laugh. And he’d done absolutely nothing. He’d never been one for heroics; the idea of ‘glory’ seemed great on paper but the truth of the matter was that Ivan only worried about taking care of his own. It wasn’t cowardly, it was smart. That’s why he felt incredibly stupid as he raised his wand and directed a curse laced heavily with an electrical current towards Cascala.
Phere ran her hands down the front of her surcoat, flattening wrinkles in the fabric that didn’t exist. She stepped lightly over Jaeger’s body, smoke billowing in miniature curls from the hole where his nose had once been. The room in which she’d allowed the slobbering fool to hold her captive had remained relatively untouched by whatever had ripped through the rest of Matic’s spire. Moments ago she and Jaeger had watched bits of castle wall explode into the night sky from the room‘s cloudy window, all but one pane of glass shattering as the tower quaked with a deafening roar. It had all ended in permanent fantasy, a genre in which Phere felt an inherent ease, but she couldn’t prevent herself from hesitating to open the door to Matic‘s main chamber. Her hollow-granted glimpses of the room outside weren’t pleasant by any means; this world was essentially being pulled apart at the seams, all her plans turning to shambles. She exhaled sharply and beat a well-manicured fist against the wood of the door. When was it that she’d lost control of them all?
Clenching her teeth in a silent fury, Phere leaned against the stone wall and attempted to calm her nerves. She needed a haven- somewhere to escape all the madness so that she could reassert her power. But where? The spire had the potential to become a fortress… but Ivan and Harmon knew her location. And even so, nothing in the city was safe from the dimensional rift. Finding her way to the city’s outskirts would be risky if not utterly insane. Phere, for the first time in a very long time, felt trapped.
She hated feeling trapped.
Crying out in frustration, Phere’s boot collided stiffly with Jaeger’s side, the blunt sound of leather meeting flesh disturbingly loud within the confines of the room. As she reared her foot back for a second strike, however, a small silver spyglass fell from the folds of her coat and landed with a delicate metal clank on the floor. Regaining her composure, Phere straightened her crown and bent to retrieve the scrying glass, an idea beginning to take shape in the back of her mind. There was a determined set to her jaw as she opened the door and stepped lithely into Matic’s ruined study.
Many things happened at once.
Cascala allowed her laughter to flow freely, an icy cackle that was drowned out by the howl of the storm. The winds only intensified with each passing band of cloud and gusts ripped at the hair and clothing and circuitry of any soul unlucky enough to be out of doors. But it wasn’t as though any of these people had a choice, really. Cascala found joy in stripping them of their homes and genres, and her pretty mouth was a soft and inviting grin as she watched a portion of the Western quarter fall to ruin. She no longer had the will left to stave off the effects of the genre shift and allowed herself to spiral further into an evil madness.
Magic coursed through her and she’d never felt so alive, knowing full well that she was capable of a beautiful and so utterly terrible power. But there was a silver undercurrent running stream-like beneath her own spells, a magical pulsing that emanated from the spyglass on its chain about her neck. Diverting her gaze from the destruction, Cascala peered into the glass and found the empress Phere staring back at her, the barest hint of a smile playing at the corner of her mouth.
“I currently find myself staring at the hydra.” Phere almost sounded bored as she glanced about in a lazy manner. “And it seems to have itself in quite the predicament.”
Cascala scowled, her pretty brows knitted. “I’ve had a change of heart, Empress. The hydra is nothing more to me now than a single drop of rain amidst a downpour. If you’ve failed to notice, I’ve quite got my hands full at the moment.” She made as if to sever their connection, but the drawl of Phere’s refined accent stopped her short.
“Very well, Cascala,” the empress said, “do what you like. Just know that this call wasn’t only about the beast; I was prepared to strike up a deal. I was prepared to offer you something far more powerful than revenge.”
Cascala eyed Phere with a wicked interest. “Go on.”
Phere allowed herself a small smile as she held up a richly engraved book for Cascala to see. “I’m prepared to offer you the Tome.”
But before Cascala could respond, a searing pain engulfed her left arm, as though her very bones were alight with fire. Her shrill shriek of agony cut through the storm like lightning. Her eyes rolled wildly about, searching for her attacker, until they came to rest on the young man peering out of Matic’s ruined tower, his wand raised and still hissing with electrical magic. Cascala propelled herself toward him without thinking twice, her bargain with Phere forgotten.
Ivan’s steadfast resolve crumbled as soon as he caught Cascala’s gaze, and he turned quickly around, searching for the stairway. What he found was Phere standing before the door to the next room. Ivan wasn’t in the least surprised to find her out of Jaeger’s grasp- but to find her reading the Tome was another matter entirely. She smiled knowingly as he gaped at her and Ivan could only hope that their alliance still stood.
Then the floor buckled with a sickening crunch of wood and, as Phere stepped lightly back through the doorway, Ivan crashed to the now-angled floor and began to slide. , desks, and much of Matic’s varying magical apparatus spewed forth from the tower’s open side as Ivan used every bit of his strength to wedge himself into a shallow alcove. What awaited at the end of the wooden slide was far worse than the plummet Matic had taken towards the ground. Cascala hovered just outside the Castle’s broken opening, her arm blistered and blackened, eyes lit with malice.
“Think you can play the hero, do you?” Her voice was low as she inched ever closer, so slowly. Ivan scrambled to face her, balanced on a wall that was now where the floor had once been. The tower gave a lingering moan, bits of stone and plaster dusting their faces white.
Raising his wandhand, Ivan sent a silent curse towards Cascala that even he knew was futile. Catching it in her unburned hand, she laughed quietly, a pleasant sound as though he’d just told a joke that only she understood.
Her expression then smoothed into a kind sort of pity, and she almost looked sad. “A persistent one, I’ll give you that.” Her voice was soft and sweet as she caught the second curse he hurled at her. “Tell me, were you always so brave?” Ivan remained silent. She was close now, so close, and her pleasant tone was grating on him. “I can see in your eyes that you recognize death,” she hummed. “This is a valiant end. They will sing of your courage. That is, if any are left come dawn.”
The wall-turned-ceiling above them gave a splintered scream as rain water burst through its plaster skin, soaking through their robes. Cascala didn’t bother keeping herself dry and let it run in watery ribbons down her face. “Ivan, did you know human beings are made of water?” His blood ran cold at the use of his name. “That’s something a smart young man like you should know.” She began to collect the rain between cupped palms. “But just as water gives life… so too can it take life.” Cascala removed her hands; instead of falling, however, the pool of water she’d collected hovered before her chest as though she were still holding it, growing larger with each drop of rain. Ivan raised his wand, but as he did so the water-mass swallowed it and wrenched it from his grasp.
“Now, now,” Cascala chided as the water snapped his wand in two, “Sending so many curses flying about is considered poor etiquette, Ivan. I thought you’d know better.” It was then that the wall upon which he was standing crumbled through. Finding himself dangling by his arms from a jagged beam, Ivan steeled himself and refused to look down, choosing instead to wearily meet Cascala’s gaze. She sighed. “It would appear I’m boring you. And here I was, believing this to be such a pleasant conversation.” One of his hands lost its grip as Cascala’s water-globe fashioned itself into a pick made of ice. “Though I suppose you really must be going.”
Ivan watched her in a dismal sort of fascination, his wandhand dangling by his side. He’d never been particularly talented with wandless magic, but as the mad witch raised the pick above her head and dropped her good-natured façade, he felt lightning begin to gather within his clenched fist.
Cascala’s voice was cool as she said, “You can’t even fight back,“ the look in her eyes barren and disgusted.
“I don’t need to,” Ivan replied quietly as he directed a crack of energy towards her. “Water conducts.”
Her howl of pain sent a miserable shudder through his bones and Ivan turned his face away. His fingers began to slip.
The simple fabric of his robes blew listlessly in the wind as Ivan stared out through the gash in the side of Matic’s castle. Where once had been solid fortification- wood, rock, and stone- now gaped an open wound, exposing the castle’s innards for all the world to see. Matic was dead, or at least Ivan hoped he was. Even for an arch wizard, surviving a fall from such a height seemed highly unlikely. And Ivan should know, shouldn’t he? After all, he was Matic’s apprentice. Or he had been.
Rain poured in through the massive hole, pooling between twisted floorboards and soaking through Matic’s works- all the things he and Ivan had spent months analyzing. It didn’t matter now if their research was ruined. Matic was dead and the Tome was likely to be as mangled as the rest of the tower- if it even existed at all. Ivan nudged a broken bit of glass out of the hole with the toe of his shoe and watched it spiral towards the ground. They’d been so close. Ivan had been close. He’d finally been able to pinpoint the source of the energies that were causing the universal shifts. He’d found a sort of code made out of some intricate and archaic magics that no one had thought to look for in sequence. It was deeply rooted in the Tome behind a hell of a lot of wards and it had taken ages to unbind. But they’d finally managed it. He and Matic could’ve harnessed those energies, even prevented their effects. And right now Ivan could’ve been holding the title of ‘Wizard’. Unfortunately, however, it seemed that in the last fifteen minutes he‘d even lost his apprenticeship.
Or maybe he'd never been an apprentice. Or half an elf. He’d been a detective once- and someone from another planet. And Matic had been a criminal, that much was certain. Turning weary eyes towards a sky that was now a sea of banded clouds, dark energy, and hammering rain, Ivan made a noble attempt at putting his memories in order. This had been, arguably, the longest night of his life and exhaustion was beginning to take its toll. It felt like all the versions of himself he’d encountered throughout the night were fighting for precedence over one another… leaving him with nothing more than a headache and something of an identity crisis.
In the bailey below Nalzaki and a knight were at each other’s throats, a clashing of fire and ice that Ivan could feel even at his distance. He wondered if by some coincidence the fire-wielding knight was another of the eight contestants, but decided quickly that it didn’t matter. The battle he was observing belonged solely to Nalzaki and he wasn’t going to get involved. Resigned to leave the hydra to its fate, Ivan removed his wand from its pocket within his robes, the weight of it reassuring and strangely familiar.
The city was falling apart. Cascala’s wrath still careened overhead, smashed bits of ruble and people mingling with the rain. Ivan had watched her climb through the air mere moments after Matic’s suicide, her pretty face contorted into something inhuman . He’d seen her break apart an already broken city and laugh. And he’d done absolutely nothing. He’d never been one for heroics; the idea of ‘glory’ seemed great on paper but the truth of the matter was that Ivan only worried about taking care of his own. It wasn’t cowardly, it was smart. That’s why he felt incredibly stupid as he raised his wand and directed a curse laced heavily with an electrical current towards Cascala.
Phere ran her hands down the front of her surcoat, flattening wrinkles in the fabric that didn’t exist. She stepped lightly over Jaeger’s body, smoke billowing in miniature curls from the hole where his nose had once been. The room in which she’d allowed the slobbering fool to hold her captive had remained relatively untouched by whatever had ripped through the rest of Matic’s spire. Moments ago she and Jaeger had watched bits of castle wall explode into the night sky from the room‘s cloudy window, all but one pane of glass shattering as the tower quaked with a deafening roar. It had all ended in permanent fantasy, a genre in which Phere felt an inherent ease, but she couldn’t prevent herself from hesitating to open the door to Matic‘s main chamber. Her hollow-granted glimpses of the room outside weren’t pleasant by any means; this world was essentially being pulled apart at the seams, all her plans turning to shambles. She exhaled sharply and beat a well-manicured fist against the wood of the door. When was it that she’d lost control of them all?
Clenching her teeth in a silent fury, Phere leaned against the stone wall and attempted to calm her nerves. She needed a haven- somewhere to escape all the madness so that she could reassert her power. But where? The spire had the potential to become a fortress… but Ivan and Harmon knew her location. And even so, nothing in the city was safe from the dimensional rift. Finding her way to the city’s outskirts would be risky if not utterly insane. Phere, for the first time in a very long time, felt trapped.
She hated feeling trapped.
Crying out in frustration, Phere’s boot collided stiffly with Jaeger’s side, the blunt sound of leather meeting flesh disturbingly loud within the confines of the room. As she reared her foot back for a second strike, however, a small silver spyglass fell from the folds of her coat and landed with a delicate metal clank on the floor. Regaining her composure, Phere straightened her crown and bent to retrieve the scrying glass, an idea beginning to take shape in the back of her mind. There was a determined set to her jaw as she opened the door and stepped lithely into Matic’s ruined study.
Many things happened at once.
Cascala allowed her laughter to flow freely, an icy cackle that was drowned out by the howl of the storm. The winds only intensified with each passing band of cloud and gusts ripped at the hair and clothing and circuitry of any soul unlucky enough to be out of doors. But it wasn’t as though any of these people had a choice, really. Cascala found joy in stripping them of their homes and genres, and her pretty mouth was a soft and inviting grin as she watched a portion of the Western quarter fall to ruin. She no longer had the will left to stave off the effects of the genre shift and allowed herself to spiral further into an evil madness.
Magic coursed through her and she’d never felt so alive, knowing full well that she was capable of a beautiful and so utterly terrible power. But there was a silver undercurrent running stream-like beneath her own spells, a magical pulsing that emanated from the spyglass on its chain about her neck. Diverting her gaze from the destruction, Cascala peered into the glass and found the empress Phere staring back at her, the barest hint of a smile playing at the corner of her mouth.
“I currently find myself staring at the hydra.” Phere almost sounded bored as she glanced about in a lazy manner. “And it seems to have itself in quite the predicament.”
Cascala scowled, her pretty brows knitted. “I’ve had a change of heart, Empress. The hydra is nothing more to me now than a single drop of rain amidst a downpour. If you’ve failed to notice, I’ve quite got my hands full at the moment.” She made as if to sever their connection, but the drawl of Phere’s refined accent stopped her short.
“Very well, Cascala,” the empress said, “do what you like. Just know that this call wasn’t only about the beast; I was prepared to strike up a deal. I was prepared to offer you something far more powerful than revenge.”
Cascala eyed Phere with a wicked interest. “Go on.”
Phere allowed herself a small smile as she held up a richly engraved book for Cascala to see. “I’m prepared to offer you the Tome.”
But before Cascala could respond, a searing pain engulfed her left arm, as though her very bones were alight with fire. Her shrill shriek of agony cut through the storm like lightning. Her eyes rolled wildly about, searching for her attacker, until they came to rest on the young man peering out of Matic’s ruined tower, his wand raised and still hissing with electrical magic. Cascala propelled herself toward him without thinking twice, her bargain with Phere forgotten.
Ivan’s steadfast resolve crumbled as soon as he caught Cascala’s gaze, and he turned quickly around, searching for the stairway. What he found was Phere standing before the door to the next room. Ivan wasn’t in the least surprised to find her out of Jaeger’s grasp- but to find her reading the Tome was another matter entirely. She smiled knowingly as he gaped at her and Ivan could only hope that their alliance still stood.
Then the floor buckled with a sickening crunch of wood and, as Phere stepped lightly back through the doorway, Ivan crashed to the now-angled floor and began to slide. , desks, and much of Matic’s varying magical apparatus spewed forth from the tower’s open side as Ivan used every bit of his strength to wedge himself into a shallow alcove. What awaited at the end of the wooden slide was far worse than the plummet Matic had taken towards the ground. Cascala hovered just outside the Castle’s broken opening, her arm blistered and blackened, eyes lit with malice.
“Think you can play the hero, do you?” Her voice was low as she inched ever closer, so slowly. Ivan scrambled to face her, balanced on a wall that was now where the floor had once been. The tower gave a lingering moan, bits of stone and plaster dusting their faces white.
Raising his wandhand, Ivan sent a silent curse towards Cascala that even he knew was futile. Catching it in her unburned hand, she laughed quietly, a pleasant sound as though he’d just told a joke that only she understood.
Her expression then smoothed into a kind sort of pity, and she almost looked sad. “A persistent one, I’ll give you that.” Her voice was soft and sweet as she caught the second curse he hurled at her. “Tell me, were you always so brave?” Ivan remained silent. She was close now, so close, and her pleasant tone was grating on him. “I can see in your eyes that you recognize death,” she hummed. “This is a valiant end. They will sing of your courage. That is, if any are left come dawn.”
The wall-turned-ceiling above them gave a splintered scream as rain water burst through its plaster skin, soaking through their robes. Cascala didn’t bother keeping herself dry and let it run in watery ribbons down her face. “Ivan, did you know human beings are made of water?” His blood ran cold at the use of his name. “That’s something a smart young man like you should know.” She began to collect the rain between cupped palms. “But just as water gives life… so too can it take life.” Cascala removed her hands; instead of falling, however, the pool of water she’d collected hovered before her chest as though she were still holding it, growing larger with each drop of rain. Ivan raised his wand, but as he did so the water-mass swallowed it and wrenched it from his grasp.
“Now, now,” Cascala chided as the water snapped his wand in two, “Sending so many curses flying about is considered poor etiquette, Ivan. I thought you’d know better.” It was then that the wall upon which he was standing crumbled through. Finding himself dangling by his arms from a jagged beam, Ivan steeled himself and refused to look down, choosing instead to wearily meet Cascala’s gaze. She sighed. “It would appear I’m boring you. And here I was, believing this to be such a pleasant conversation.” One of his hands lost its grip as Cascala’s water-globe fashioned itself into a pick made of ice. “Though I suppose you really must be going.”
Ivan watched her in a dismal sort of fascination, his wandhand dangling by his side. He’d never been particularly talented with wandless magic, but as the mad witch raised the pick above her head and dropped her good-natured façade, he felt lightning begin to gather within his clenched fist.
Cascala’s voice was cool as she said, “You can’t even fight back,“ the look in her eyes barren and disgusted.
“I don’t need to,” Ivan replied quietly as he directed a crack of energy towards her. “Water conducts.”
Her howl of pain sent a miserable shudder through his bones and Ivan turned his face away. His fingers began to slip.