Fantasy Shattered Fates: The Forbidden Sanctum

[Siren77]

They must be tested

Just as quick as the Ancient had moved to offer his hand to your numbers, it was snapped back into a clenched fist. At the moment their fist tightened, there was a soft click as flames erupted around the decayed remnants you stood among. A circle now barred all means of escape or entry, locking you in close quarters with the Ancient that greeted you upon your arrival. He held no position of threat, not yet at least. The blades he wielded remained at his back, though it was clear they were not his only means of destruction.

In the face of this sudden encounter, some of your fellow whisps thought to test their luck in the flames, fleeing into their warm embrace only to be entirely consumed. Others thought themselves able to contend with the old man, forfeiting their lives to dare and take a step forward, only to be met with a similar fate of incineration. He needed only to extend his hand, and the power he wielded took care of the rest. There was no escaping or fighting, and the fools deaths only benefited the Ancient. Fewer souls to be judged, less time to be wasted.

Unless you dared to move, death would not greet you. So it was that the Ancient remained still amongst those that braved the danger and stood fast amongst the embers that blazed behind them. He’d merely grunt, clearly unimpressed with those that still lived. Their choice to stand before him did not guarantee their survival. It merely prolonged their lives in this moment.

A cold silence overcame the room, with nothing save for The Ancients crackling flames and the occasional hiss of melting flesh sounding off. Heat to the rear, and an icy cold stare to the front. He was analyzing them, looking upon their faces as if expecting some sort of answer to be etched into their skin. Those bold Crimson eyes held no warmth to them. While once inviting, he now looked upon you all as if trespassers or pests. Perhaps a combination of the two. It was unclear why his behavior had changed, until at last they finally spoke again.

“I recall a similar set of circumstances in my arrival to this world. I remember standing amongst a group of whisps not unlike yourselves, except it was no man that we were faced with. It was a cruel and twisted creature that feasted upon our flesh seemingly without a proper cause, save for the barbaric cravings of a wild beast. But when it’s sickening maw stood face to face to us, we found that it could read our souls, and questions our deepest desires, pulling the truth from our mouths without the slightest hesitance. It was our Judge. The test that allowed us to prove our strength to the goddess, in answering a simple question. It demanded of us why we deserved to live... or... was it what we were willing to sacrifice to survive?” It was clear their mind was conflicted with the time the blinded his memory, “It matters not, for it was long time ago.”

The Ancients expression hardened.

“I require a similar test of you all before I am to trust you. I am not as gifted as The Goddess or her Judge. I cannot perceived your thoughts or understand the machinations of your souls. So similarly I must answer a question, and I suggest you think carefully on your answers. For if you seek to deceive me, I will know you are a child of the corruption, and you will be purged without a second thought. Through this question you will prove your worth, and potential your intentions.”

The Ancient slowly walked to the rightmost member of your numbers, his eyes locking with theirs.

“Listen close, as I’ll only ask once.” He’d call out to the rest of them. “What was the first thing you can remember just before your arrival? In the space between worlds, what memory of such things stand out to you? What did you feel? Or perhaps what did you think?”

It was not a question that could easily be lied about, as there didn’t seem to be a right answer in the first place. Which begged the question, why think he’d be deceived in the first place? Was it sheer paranoia? Or perhaps the answer lay within the Corruption he so briefly mentioned. Whatever the case, now was not the time to seek answers of him.

“Answer quickly. I’ll not have my patience tested.”

 

[seasonedcat]

~wisp??~
The whisp lay on the ground, metaphorically laying on their face as they lay in a heap. See, they were hoping that if they stayed down that they would be smited by the edgy man. Sort of reverse logic or something. Honestly, the whisp didn't want shit in any world they were all shit. They couldn't even remember why the world sucked, they just felt a passion burning in their chest to just not be a part of it.

Sadly their decision was quickly proved wrong as others began to die that decided to leave. The whisp cursed the man for not being cool and letting people walk through the fire. Though the whisp didn't care because this meant at least they didn't have to do anything to die other than walk. So of course the whisp lolled over to the flame and began to walk into it-completely ignoring that all the whisps other than the ones that weren't gonna go in so they all knew that it was death-.

Yet again their plan failed as something yoinked them back. They weren't prepared for it so they fell over. They laid down on top of the other whisp and didn't bother to roll off. A sort of punishment for the thing not letting them die. There was some edgy backstory part but yeah the whisp blocked that out. Of course, the edgy man decided that this was a good time to chose them to be the group to go with him. Thank goodness though they still had another chance to die. Though of course there was no way that the things they remembered would be good enough for him to keep so they just spoke it anyway, getting off the whisp and getting closer to the man before speaking.

"Alone, like you-it-they abandoned me? Yet I am surrounded by people like I am missing my other half.." they stuttered out before continuing, "Cold but I'm surrounded by fire...like there is a deep-rooted... I don't know something inside me that hurts... I only fail so what's the point in trying anyway?" They spoke some of it so low only they could hear, before quickly shifting back to their stoic mood, "Anyway, I doubt this is good enough for you so can you do mean favour and smite me down or something." (let me know if any of you are light users and I need to change colour)
Juju Siren77

 

[Juju]

Siren77 (Daddy Iro) seasonedcat (Depressed Wisp)
~~~​

Where am I? The wisps first thoughts floated through its head like a cold breeze. I do not belong here.

It gazed around it without eyes, and listened to the seated figure with a reluctant silence. There was no saying who one could trust in this new world, but somehow it could sense that this being had no reason to lie. The only remaining question was why. With suspicion, the wisp gazed at the extended hand, and flinched as it withdrew. The dread came before the flames did, but the true horror followed.

The wisp instinctively flattened itself to the ground, its eyes ever locked on the ancient warrior. It was neither aggression, nor submission, but an intrinsic defiance of a cornered beast with nowhere to go. It did not want to die, but it knew fighting was not an option with those silver blades. This was only confirmed as a few other wisps jumped into the fray and were cut down with little effort. There was nowhere to run, either. All it could do was stand it's ground, and wait for the ancient to make the first move.

In the silence that followed, the wisp saw another break from the few survivors. At first it thought it was trying to run, then it realized it was slowly yet willingly walking towards the flames. Its flicker of a mind told it to stay still, lest it draw the eye of the ancient, yet something stronger took hold. The wisp lunged forth and caught the other wisp, dragging it back.

The feeling was... less than desirable. Without limbs nor form, the two essences entangled with each other until they both fell over. Before it knew it, the wisp was pinned underneath the one it had just saved. Of course, its struggles did nothing, and they remained pinned until the other wisp decided to roll off. A new emotion welled up, hot and stinging like thorns. It realized it had a voice at the same time it growled, "W-what were you doing? Those flames would kill you!"

Anger? Embarrassment? It all faded as soon as the ancient spoke again. The wisp crouched down again, making itself small as it stared up at the ancient with unsure caution. The wisp did not intend to test the being's patience, and quickly searched its memory.

Darkness. Cold. Careful steps.

"I was... searching for something. Or was I lost? No... I needed to look for something.... or do something. It was very important, and I wasn't going to give up! I'm... I'm still not!" It squeaked with all the bravery it could muster, trying not to show any fear to this powerful being. It was very afraid... it would be stupid not to... but showing weakness would only make it an easy target.

 

[The True Plague]

Siren77 (Testy Iro) seasonedcat (Depressed Wisp) Juju (Determined Wisp)

The first impression the Wisp had experienced, was confusion. One second, it wasn't. Now, it was. How did this work? Why? What? Where? Thousands of questions raced dully through what could be considered a mind, until it paused. Sound. Sound... Sounds. The faceless thing seemed to turn its 'gaze' upon the source. A man, with weapons of war upon his back. Why did it know that?

No matter, really. It understood three things. The ones that moved seemed to face a destruction rather complete for... Whatever they are. This being before it was not one to be trifled with lightly, given the droves of those dying in a suicidal rush against the warrior. With both of these known, this wisp chose to stay put, out of respect for the martial prowess of the one before it.

Like a wolf before its pack leader, the wisp decided to ignore the dull cries of the embers of anger... Was it anger? Or was it more? Doesn't matter, really. It listened to the words of the elder being, or it presumed the being to be an elder. Such a warrior surely is experienced.

It would, perhaps, have pondered the things out of sheer boredom, if not for the antics of two other wisps. One had sought to enter the flame, likely out of some desire to go out of this existence. The other, in a shocking turn of events, had actually stopped it, with a process that implied a bit more physicality than expected. It even spoke, which begged the question... Could it? Could it speak? What kind of voice would it even produce?

Given the warrior had come before it, and stared it in the eyes as it proceeded, this wisp felt that perhaps it could indeed, speak. After all, it doubted a warrior would waste time on such things that couldn't speak by asking them questions.

Though one has to wonder... How would it know if they lied? After all, the warrior even admitted it can't delve as deep as the ones that initiated him, so this is less an exercise of trust, and more a game in its eyes.

Nevertheless, the wisp felt compelled to be honest, some remnant of a time half remembered. It didn't remember the circumstances, but it remembered the sensations.

"Screaming, lots of screaming. Senseless. Dreadful. Anguished. A sticky warmth and an iron taste in the air... Exhilaration. Pain. Hatred. Something almost... Primal." The voice coming from it was almost raspy, be it due to disuse, or perhaps an overuse. Like the sound one imagined from a grizzled veteran of many a war.

Where the other two showed an apathy driven by sadness, and fear respectively, this wisp showed merely an acceptance of what was happening. No real emotion, save for a respect for the warrior before it, as some part of it seemed to think of them as an equal.

 

[kasigi]

WISP?​

The bellowing plumes of fire provided a cozy warmth, one of the first feelings of many in this wisp's new reality. It was a mix of understanding and lack thereof, the wisp attempting to extend an arm out in front of themselves. Upon closer inspection, their own arm deceived what they expected - though, how would the wisp have known what to expect? The arm looked fuzzy, as if it hadn't fully come to realization and only served as an outline yet to be completed. It served as a reflection of the wisp's mind, fuzzy and unsure. Luckily, the wisp had been bestowed a sense of self and stark control over their own limbs, rather than unrefined motor skills a truly newborn life would've possessed. The wisp's own awareness of the situation had proven to make things even more mind-boggling, as they could not understand why they were there, how they got there, nor wherein they currently resided. All the wisp knew was the eruption of orange that surrounded them, and the heat that followed.

After the flames came company. When the ringing in their ears faded and their vision cleared, the wisp noticed both the weapon-clad man and the other wisps that choked out the freedom of the ring. The wisp's examination of the man had only been interrupted by the other wisp's attempt - and failure - to either escape or engage the man in battle. Funny, as none of them appeared to possess armaments to engage with. Their numbers dwindled, slowly but surely, as more and more of the wisps had been struck down. With how cluttered the ring of fire once was, a bit of room to breathe was almost appreciated. Perhaps the most peculiar event was one wisp saving another. An act of kindness? To risk your own life for one who has no meaning to you was admirable. It revitalized the wisp's momentarily forgotten sense of humanity.

Even so, the wisp knew that they would be faced with a decision soon enough. They would have not been called here without reason.

Heeding both his words and his gaze, the wisp found the icy, piercing glare to be unavoidable. Even when the man's eyes were not upon you, his stare felt as if it peered deep into your soul, examining your very being. The story the man spoke only cemented the man's importance. Who was this figure that they stood before? Nevertheless, the inevitable decision was presented to the wisps. It appeared that their survival was not guaranteed until their worth had been proven. A test of trust? The wisp formulated a thought, for the first time. Perhaps it could speak a suitable answer next, manipulated their own wispy maw to their advantage. There was no reason to lie to this man, for his intentions seemed genuine - lying would only prove to be hurtful.

When faced with the test of trust, even more feelings began to pour through the cracks of the feeble dam that sealed away an ocean of memories. What did the wisp feel? "Dishonor." Yes, that's right. "Failure, dishonor, sadness. I needed to.. I need redemption. The burden of my failures had been inflicted upon others moreso than myself. " After putting their feelings into words, the wisp felt as if they had a better understanding of what they needed to do, though they did not fully understand the conditions or circumstances behind said feelings.

The wisp's tone carried genuine weight. Genuine pain. Their redemption would be carried through, no doubt. Facing the situation at hand, their sadness transformed into steadfast willpower.

 

[Siren77]

So suddenly has this life been forced upon us. So soon has our innocence been stolen. Why are we here?

They were potentially one of the last to come to. While the others had been given ample time to adjust and take in their surroundings and situation, their mind would barely come into cognition just before the Ancient was to awake. Everything felt dull, like just waking up from a deep sleep. There was a lag in their ability to think, taking a few seconds to respond and react. That floating sensation of their time spent in the darkness never seemed to depart from them. Flying almost felt natural, and yet so foreign to their body. They were enraptured by the feeling, completely distracted from the other whisps around them. The only other thing they could bring themselves to pay attention to was the Ancients words, and the rather sad story he had to share.

For a moment they almost felt sorry for him, but such emotions were quickly laid to rest after The Ancients wrath was turned against them. With the sudden heat and the horrid sounds of burning flesh filling the air, at last reality took its full hold over their soul, clipping their wings and no longer allowing them to float. As if by instinct, they took a defensive posture, hands raised to protect themselves in case the power of the ancient was used in them as well. But they’d spot a pattern in those whisps who perished. They either fled into the flames, willingly giving up their lives, or forsook their rationality and boldly stepped forward to contend with the man.

We must not move.

So they remained put, and thus were spared, alongside all others with the same rationale. Well, almost all. There was one who sought death just as many other whisps had, and yet their plans were thwarted by one of their numbers. Why? There was no sense in saving a soul that did not wish to remain here. The Ancient had made it clear they had a choice, and they’d made theirs. Why keep them here? They thought the kind whisp foolish, and the saved whisp a coward, just like the rest who had abandoned their lives. But they had to remind themselves that they were not here to judge. He was.

The Ancients words were harsh and to the point. But the whisp couldn’t help but feel a sense of paranoia to his words. Though it clearly was justified, as they had a deep understanding of the corruption, and a deep fear for it as well. He could not be challenged or questioned. The most that could be down was look to the ground as to avoid his icy stare, and answer his question when the time came. Soon enough, the Ancient took his turn in standing direction before them, and it was only then that they got a true grasp of his stature. He towered over them with great coercion, never breaking their gaze.

It was best not to keep him waiting, and while moments before there had been no recollection of their past. The Ancients presence almost acted as as key, opening the smallest of doors, to feel the simplest of emotions.

“I can’t remember where I’d been.... or what it was I had been doing. Only that even before deaths embrace had come upon me, my soul had surrendered. I was, ready to die? Or perhaps willing to, but for what cause?”

This whisp sounded especially lost and defeated, and it frustrated them so. There was no memories, no actions to be remembered. Only the feeling of abandon upon themselves. It hurt, and made them fear the worst of their actions. No longer did they want to remember, for they feared what the truth would hold.

 

[Siren77]

One by one, the Ancient walked among their masses. Never once did his hard gaze change, or the intent in his movement falter. He’d react to none, speaking nothing. The only occasional reaction to be seen was more lost souls deaths being added to the count of those foolish enough to try and flee or fight. For one reason or another, their answers displeased him, and for that they perished in flame.

However, more survived than perished in his test. They were numbered at ten by the time he’d arrive at the rightmost of their numbers. And once they answered his question, only then would his gaze shift and his head nod, finally looking to be pleased with the results of his challenge to them.

“It pleases me that so many of you who remain are pure in body. In my paranoia, I expected far more illusions than truths. Yet here you all stand. Most by choice, and some by the choice of others.”

He smirked, clearly referring to the Depressed and Determined whisps whom he’d spoken to first. Doubling back, he’d approach the latter of the two, this time displaying far less malice in his presence. Rather, an almost fond gaze instead.

“It’s quite interesting. You remind me so closely of an old friend I once shared the battlefield with. So kind, so willing to put others before themselves. Even forsaking their opportunities to obtain power and further prepare themselves for the horrors of this world, if only to save but one soul. I admire you, but I also must warn you. Do not seek to intervene in the fates of others, especially in chosen fates. Saving others is a valiant task, but it often invites death upon oneself in return. Care for yourself just as you would others.”

The Ancient would retreat after his unique personal message for the whisp, now looking to address them all.

“While I am not the one to provide answers to your questions, or to fit the pieces of your shattered fates together again, I can promise you that I will serve as a guide as you navigate these confusing plains of existence. And if I may impart an ancients wisdom upon you, I advise only this. Do not let the remnants of your past define who you will now become. By all means, learn of your history. I’ll not punish you for seeking after answers. But I warn you, the weight of memories is great upon ones soul. Learn of your sins, and you may never look at yourself the same again. Learn of your virtues, and you’ll be chasing the shadows of your former self forever. Seek your own identity, and find purpose in it.” His glowing eyes looked upon the Depressed Whisp, “Do not give up on yourself before your journey has begun.”

The Ancient began to pace before them as he had before, stroking his scruffy beard with contemplative look upon his face.

“As much as I’d wish to grant you a peace of mind in saying the questions of an old man and the burdens of a past life are the greatest of your trials, I’ll not make myself a liar. No, these things I have spoke of are in fact the easiest of your trials. Great conflict lies in wait beyond my domain, on our path to redeem those that have come before us, and to fulfill the wishes of our absent Goddess. And it would not be hyperbole to compare it to War, and an impossible one at that. Few, against many. Fortunately, with what many of you have told me, you are familiar with the concept of battle. Be it in sieges alongside your brothers and sisters, or alone in your own psyche. Yes, you are all familiar with the struggle of a fight.”

The Ancient stretched forth his hand, as if to bless them.

“Warriors I shall call you. As Warriors, you must be prepared, and as Warriors you must be *armed*.”

His hand was lowered, and his back was turned against them.

“As I’ve said, I do not harbor the same majesty as the Goddess herself. I cannot conjure weapons of war for you to take up. However,” His hand twirled, and out of thin air a flower was produced. It looked almost colorless with its pale scheme, yet it shimmered so brightly. The Ancient looked upon it with an clear fondness. “I know of some that can help me with this task.”

Clenching a fist around the flower, crushing and burning it slowly, The Ancient muttered two names under his breath that couldn’t quite be heard by the whisps surrounding him. Yet as soon as his mouths formed the words of those names, two whispy figures not unlike themselves began to manifest before the Ancient. One to his left, and one to his right. Piece by piece they’d reform, with their loose bodies taking a more solid and defined shape. One became taller than the other, with the shorter one gathering a bright shade of pink upon their head that gathered into fluffy curls of hair. The taller whisp had a slender frame, and unruly hair that was pulled back behind their head. Finally their bodies would become whole, yet looked to be almost translucent in appearance. Almost as if they were but ghosts of the past, and the weapons they wielded confirmed this notion.

The smaller whisp wielded a short sword, almost identical in its silver splendor to that of the dual blades bound by chains to the Ancient. And the slender one carried a set of black weapons, a lance and chakram, looking to be a burden upon him to wield, yet he did so effortlessly. The weapons seemed to harmonize amongst one another, singing an unheard tune that resonated in the atmosphere around them. Like old friends did the weapons greet, and so too did their masters.

As soon as the pair would begin to blink and look around the Ancients chamber, he’d place his hands on one of their shoulders. A quiet conversation was exchanged, and as he spoke, the two’s gaze shifted to the new whisps still lined up and waiting. This would go on for a sufficient amount of time, before the Ancient turned to face the whisps once again.

“They have agreed to help us in our journey. While typically their souls tend to the Graves of the Fallen, their servitude to Nera has yet to fail. They wish to do what they can to ensure her vision for this world comes into fruition, thus they bestow upon you a blessing of power.”

The Ancient would retreat a few steps, and the spirits would step forward in his stead. The shorter of the pair would extend their hand, a soft smile on their face.

“Vystari offers unto those of you who lack conviction, a blessing of Courage. Though the burden of fear and hesitance can be great in this mortal life, courage can be harnessed in even the most dire of times. As such, so too will her blessing be retrieved in any circumstance. Bind yourselves to this courage, and it will never abandon you.”

Spoiler: Weapons of Courage (Depressed and Defeated)

As the ghost extended her hand forward, a shard of light materialized before you two souls, glistening with an soft light that embellished yourself with hope regardless of how much you lacked. For just a moment you were able to gaze upon it, before it shot forward, burrowing into your chest. No pain would he felt, save for a temporary peace of mind that washes over you, followed by the burning drive of courage.

It was not meant to last though. As the last of the shards light fades within you, the intense emotion would fade, and in its stead a weapon of fine craftsmanship begins to materialize in your possession. It’s shape is at first ambiguous, until it fully takes solid form. The burden of its handle is light, and moves with ease. Though the power of what you felt is now gone, a faint echo of it can still be felt as you

grip the handle. You feel a strange bond with your blessing.

Defeated and Depressed Whisp receive the Blessing of Courage. A modified silvered weapon, it retains its lightweight build, but comes with the ability to summon the weapon by extending ones hand. It is bound to their soul, and cannot be wielded by anyone else.

Recieve the Mark of Vystar, The Spilling Lilly, on the back of your dominant hand.

Vystari lowered her hand, and stepped back, bowing her head to the wisps she offered her blessing to. Now it was her counterparts turn to offer their hand, greeting the whisps with a stoic expression that masked regret.

“Dwynn offers you who remember purpose, but have felt the bite of failure, a Blessing of Redemption. As has been said, the burden of your past can weigh heavily upon you, but with redemption you may find new purpose here in servitude to our Goddess. Redemption is a hard thing to be found, this I know. But so long as you seek after it, it shall find you. Be redeemed in the heat of battle, and use your drive to crush our enemies.”

Spoiler: Weapons of Redemption (Devoid, Determined, and Dishonored

Dwynn’s extended hand prompted the very shadows beneath your feet to unravel. It began pulsating, *moving*, stretching out for a moment only to rise from the ground as a shapeless mass. It almost appeared to be looking around the room, before spiraling up your unformed leg and gathering inside your abdomen. It wouldn’t hurt you, rather a weight seemed to build in your chest. A pressure that might be almost familiar to those of you acquainted with battle.

You begin to feel your heart race, and a surge of adrenaline pumping in your pale blood. You feel powerful, ready to take on anything that dares to stand against you with strength unparalleled. But this too was not meant to last. Your imaginary battle was won, and so you began to relax. You may realize that your muscles had been tension up and flexing, though they wouldn’t extend very far. As your body fully recovered from the rush, your shadow began to reappear and swirl about your arms before forming as a mass in your hand. Just as those with the silver shards before, it took the form of a weapon, unique only to yourself.

It feels heavy, but not too great of a burden as could be seen with Dwynn. It still moved quite naturally in your hands, and it almost feels hollow.

Dishonored, Determined, and Devoid Whisp receive the Blessing of Redemption. A modified Black Vessel that has been freed of the curse tied to the corruption. It retains its heavier weight, and still feeds upon their blood and flesh, but only when receiving injuries from an outside source. In feeding, power builds, and strikes become more powerful. It is bound to their soul, and cannot be wielded by anyone else.

You find your shadow no longer follows you

The last half of the whisps were finally armed. All now possessed unique weapons tailored to their bodies and past lives. The Ancient beamed with satisfaction at the fine work his friends had brought. But while there was no rest for the living, the dead still had their share of burdens this day, for their work was not yet finished.

Time was allotted such that the Whisps could familiarize themselves with their armaments, free to adjust to the weight and unique properties thereof. The clattering of metal swinging about sounded in the air, until a loud clang! echoed amidst them. Dwynn had called their attention with his large lance being driving into the ground, and turned to the Ancient so that he might speak.

“As the cycle continues to turn, tradition must be fulfilled. Members of the Fallen are owed combat with those who seek to join the numbers they once embodied.” As the Ancient spoke, the once formed visages of Dwynn and Vystari began to shift and blur. “Their blessings are yours to keep, but now you must prove your worth in utilizing them.”

Vystari grew to be much taller, similar in height to her companion. Her pale skin now shone with glowing splendor not unlike the flower The Ancient had held, or the very weapon she wielded. Her form was now comparable to a ray of light, so nimble and quick to dance from one point to the next. Meanwhile Dwynn was overcome by Shadow. A shapeless mass now consumed him, bulking his structure but skewing the lines between his body and the darkness surrounding the chamber. He was clearly slower, packing heavier weight behind his movements, that posed a clear power to them.

“I leave you in their hands, but I will be watching closely.” The Ancient snapped his fingers and vanished in a cloud of embers. “Until we meet again, Warriors.”

An Agent with perfect agility, and a Vessel with untold strength. While on their own the pair would stand no chance against the mob of whisps before them, but together their power was unparalleled.

“We stumbled... at the end of our journey...”

“We failed... and our Goddess suffered...”

“Demonstrate your Courage... Manifest your Redemption...”

“And save our world...”

kasigi (The Dishonored) The True Plague (The Devoid) seasonedcat (The Depressed) Juju (The Determined)

 

[Juju]

Determined Wisp Siren77 kasigi The True Plague seasonedcat SirDerpingtonIV
When the ancient spoke, Determined grew still. If they had a heart, surely it would be in a wild frenzy, like a bird in a cage. They had been soloed out, just as they had feared, and yet as the ancient stepped closer it did not sense aggression. The wisp remained tense, distrusting of this unpredictable being, and listened carefully to the words of caution. Once again, it felt a burning in the pit of its being, but the softening of the warrior's tired eyes made the wisp hold its tongue.

The ancient turned away to address the group once more, leaving the Determined Wisp to its own confused thoughts. It was unsure of how to take this information, or what to feel. Was this something to feel proud of or foolish? It curiously watched the ancient pace across the mouldering stones. Although it dreaded the promise of conflict, there was little the wisp could do other than prepare itself. Whatever lay ahead, it would fight against it. There was no other choice.

The wisp flinched when the ancient extended his hand, still distrusting of the warrior, and when he summoned two more strangers the wisp kept up its guard. Soon enough the time of blessing was upon them, but that did not mean it came willingly. The boon of Courage was beautiful and pure, enough to almost lull the wisp into a sense of security. Then it noticed its very shadow twist on its own accord.

Alarmed, the wisp leapt back from its own shadow, but it was all for naught. As soon as its foot touched ground the tendrils latched on and climbed upwards. Determined fought against it, grasping with unmade hands, but it was of no use. Whatever this was, it held on tight and made its home within their core. Power surged through it, then left, and in their hand they could feel a weight grow.

Black vines sprouted, twisting together to form a sturdy staff. It was slightly springy, and when they saw what hung from the end of it they realized why. Tied from tendrils of the same vine, a heavy lantern hung from the staff. Nestled in its heart was a soft, bluish glow. The light was strange, haunting even, and as the wisp extended its hand into the light, it realized it gave off no heat. Motes of light rose from it lightly and slow, like tired fireflies, before fading into the cold.

The staff gave the wisp a sense of familiarity in this broken world, so it held it close to its chest. It remained there, against where its heart should be, even as the two challengers prepared themselves with untold power. This was a test, but the wisp knew perfectly well what failure meant.

Determined looked back at its fellow wisps, all disorganized and carrying their newly made weapons. They knew nothing about them, or their motives. As much as the wisp distrusted the ancient, these fellow wisps were below that. There was no saying just what they would do in the face of grave danger. Would they run? Shove another into the way of danger just for one moment more of life? It felt a small growl of frustration rise up.

The wisp waved its staff high, spreading little motes of light. "Listen to me! You all don't know me, and I don't know you, but that doesn't matter. What does is that those things don't care if we live or die. They will crush each and every one of us if we give them the chance, but they can only crush us if we are alone. As a pack, even the smallest of wolves can take down a lion."

Clearly, it was easier said than done to charge into battle. The wisp took a step towards the towering duo of light and shadow. It felt its instincts screech in objection.
"Don't fight for me, or the world, or that dusty ancient and his failures. Fight for yourself, for this new chance to do what you could not! Redemption.. courage...keep it in your mind and fight for it!"

The wisp whipped around to face the ancients. To be the first to step was always the most dangerous, but if they were not willing to do it, then how could they expect the others to? Forcing their shaking hands to hold on, the wisp held its staff aloft and dashed towards the twisting form of Dwynn. The wisp twirled the hanging lantern around, then made their strike for the spear, hoping to either pin it within the lantern's wrapped chain or at the very least avoid one attack from the spear.

"We're not afraid of you!" the wisp snarled.

In doing this, it left itself open to the chakram or even Vystari. In a stroke of cruel irony, the wisp would have to trust its fellow lost souls after all.

 

[Siren77]

The shard of light was so beautiful. In the moments that it’s presence was made known, The Defeated hoped to hold it, to keep it as a token to maintain the peace and the Courage it brought to their soul. But just as soon as it appeared, it vanished, striking forward and burrowing into their chest. They’d flinch, but felt no pain. It astonished them, but that feeling would only grow as the same shining opulence adorned their hands.

A staff, forged in the shattered embers of their heart, materialized and stretched in both height and thickness until it fit perfectly in their grasp. Thought it’s stature ceased, it would not yet yield to change, as two curved edges produced themselves on the opposite ends of the staff. The light faded, now looking near identical to that of the Ancient and Vystari’s weapons. A Glaive, pure and nearly weightless now rested in their hands. They expected a greater force behind such an arguably large weapon, and yet it handled quite nicely. As was the trademark of the Silvered Forges.

Spoiler: Silvered Glaive

The Defeated twirled it about in their hand, feeling a sense of familiarity with the weapon they held. A bond that felt almost distant and yet so close to the depths of their memory. They took comfort in the thought, as well as the faint sense of courage the weapon brought to them.

As they continued inspecting their new tool of War, they’d come to see the symbol now etched into their lucid skin. A spilling Lilly, identical to the Mark Vystari bore. A permanent reminder of the blessing she had given them, and the debt they now owed her and all those that had fallen as well. And the responsibilities they now shared with those they would fight along side in this moment. A fire was lit in their belly as the previous doubts and fears of what had transpired in their past life melted away, and was replaced by a new sense of purpose.

Now was not the time to sit, and pity ones own fate. Rather, it was time to stand and fight for the new one. They’d abandon their past life, applying themselves fully to what the Ancient advised. They wanted nothing to do with the life now forgotten, and would forsake it entirely if it meant starting anew and not being weighed down by their potential failures. After all, the present is all that matters now, right?

Not given much time to question their decision, The Defeated would look to see their prior allies becoming twisted and unhinged versions of themselves. Betraying them for a moment just as the Ancient had. Just as he had tested them, so too did the Icons of light and shadow desire the same.

The Determined wisp was the first to act, rallying the other wisps with a bold cry and a wave of the lantern staff she had been gifted by Dwynn. It was a call to action, a call to Fight. The very call that The Defeated had been waiting for. But they were not yet so poised to act. Their body was ready, and yet they hesitated, only willingly act as a spectator as the lone wisp charged in to contend with the one who had gifted their weapon to them. The Ancient of Shadow’s spear was pinned down, with The Determined holding her own with brilliant success. But then those looking on could see a flash of silver raging towards the pair.

Vystari was preparing to enter the fray, her blade poised to strike the still wisp that had assaulted her fellow Ancient. But her blade would fall short just a few feet away as it connected with something entirely different. The Defeated, initially unaware of their instinctive movements to enter the brawl, had been carried away by their own two legs headlong into the Silvered Ancient. The topmost blade of the dual edged Glaive struck against Vystaris short sword, letting off a loud and almost beautiful hum as the identical materials made contact.

“I thank you for your blessing, Ancient. But now it is time for you to leave. This destiny, and whatever it entails, is mine to claim! I will not be cast out into the darkness again!”

The Top blade forced the Ancients weapon into the ground, and its identical twin reeled around to strike the Ancient across the chest. A deep cut was made, spilling a deep red blood from their chest that decorated the blades sharp edge. Vystari hissed in pain and rage, which was met with a strong punch to her face that sent her reeling backwards a few paces.

The Defeated stood fast, returning her dominant hand to the staff of her weapon. Her skin and bones beneath stung like hell, with no tolerance to speak of. But they wouldn’t let the pain show through their face. Instead they creased the brows of their unformed face, as their newly beating heart began to race out of their chest. For a moment they thought to turn their back and engage with Dwynn alongside the Determined. But realizing that put them both at risk, they held their ground and stared down their adversary. They were terrified, unsure if they stood a chance against the sprightly ancient without the element of surprise.

But they’d be damned if they didn’t at least try.
They could only hope that if things went awry, others would come to their aid.

Juju seasonedcat kasigi SirDerpingtonIV The True Plague

 

[The True Plague]

Juju seasonedcat Siren77 SirDerpingtonIV kasigi

The Devoid wisp looked on impassive as the Ancient began to speak again. Pure in body? Really now? What warrior could call one pure in body... What would pure of body be? Unaltered? Free of the marks of experience? What would an illusion of body be? They certainly seem false, in comparison to how the Ancient appeared... Or mayhaps the Ancient was the false being here? Though that'd imply all the ones that died were false too...

Too much thinking. Especially with this talk of the weight of memories. The horrors of one's own sins, and the insanity of seeking former virtue. It was equally something that seemed to resonate, and yet be beyond its grasp. The Ancient had spoken further, but the Devoid had begun to tune it out as it was dragged further and further into thought. It only snapped out briefly at the mentions of a war, and battle. Words that it could not only understand, but visualize. Something that it could feel deep within.

Patiently, it waited as the two new beings were introduced, and wondered idly on how such things could provide armaments for them. They didn't appear to have spare items of war upon them... Maybe inside them? Bone is a tool, but that hardly seemed efficient. Bones that broke once will break again when used as a weapon, usually. Their mind began to drift again, pondering the usage of bones for weapons... Completely ignorant to their outreaching shadow until it wrapped around it.

Their stance changed, getting a little low, fists up in front of themself as the familiar weight settled upon their core. Adrenaline pumping, senses heightening for it. Power coursing through veins. Devoid was filled up with an almost unresistable urge to spill some blood, but just as quickly as the desire came to be, it passed once more, the weight spreading out, somewhat unevenly.

The majority of it traveled up his right arm, coalescing at the palm. In rapid fashion, a blade would form, starting with the hilt before sprouting upwards with a somewhat steep curve to the right only to sweep back in at the point, the finely sharpened point. Almost like a portable hook.


The rest of this spreading weight traveled up the left arm, coalescing as it went up into strips of what seemed to be almost leather, studs of a dark metal forming starting from the mid of the hand to the knuckles.


For once, emotion took some sway over the Devoid, as he swung the Khopesh in controlled arcs, careful to not nick anyone nearby. Overhead slashes, side sweeps, each ending with an act of the tip digging in, and yanking the fake enemy harshly towards himself, only to use their momentum to deliver a crushing uppercut with his left, pulling the tip free. So enthralled with just how right this felt, Devoid barely registered what was going on around him, until he heard a distinctive sound. The sound of weapons meeting. Others seemed to have acted before him, but no matter. He looked the situation over. The weird one who refused the suicidal wisp was against a shadowy beast, using a... Lantern staff to try and pin a Lance. The creature still freely held a Chakram. The radiant one went for defense, only to be halted by a glaive and then struck with a punch. Rather respectable...

However, let it not be said that he hid from a fight. Devoid had no words for the situation, nor a need for them anyways. After all, he was too focused on his next maneuver. With a grunt of exertion, Devoid would run towards Dwynn, unformed legs tensing as he'd launch himself forward, seeking to use the khopesh to pin down the chakram by hooking it and pressing down with the combined weight of himself and his hefty blade. 2 on 1 is hardly fair, but alas, honor is something to wish for, but something that belongs only to the dead. With any luck, such a thing won't lie upon him today.

 

[kasigi]

The Dishonored
​

Redemption was no easy task - the wisp knew this. With the Ancient sparing the wisp's life, they had interpreted it as an opportunity to weave the threads of their own fate. Rejuvenation flowed through their very being, clearing away any semblance of a clouded mind that they previously possessed. As for those who had perished, the wisp could not help but feel sympathy for them. Confused, scared, unsure. To meet such an early end, one may think to call them unlucky. This, however, would be an improper descriptor. The fates that these poor wisps had met were the culmination of their own decisions - with one exception. The wisp who had been saved had their fate altered. The reason being? The wisp who saved them possessed a greater sense of determination in their actions than the other wisp had when making the decision to embrace the fiery towers of death. Only through effort will you change your fate, which applies to changing the fates of other's as well.

Changing one's fate.. Saving those whose lives had been entrusted to you.. The wisp had already failed once before, hadn't they? They couldn't remember. Nevertheless, the actions of the Determined Wisp resonated with the Dishonored Wisp. It was truly something to admire, especially when considering they had no obligation to risk their own life for someone they had not met prior.

As the Ancient reminisced, the Dishonored Wisp had lowered themselves to the ground, their ambiguous outline appearing to kneel - a hand resting on each thigh. What could be considered their "eyes" were now held closed, the wisp isolating themselves from the all the senses that served as burdens. For now, the wisp chose only to listen. The Ancient's mention of battle held familiarity to the wisp, with an intense sense of deja vu clawing at the walls of the wisp's mind. The heart of a warrior fueled their very existence. Heeding the Ancient's warning about learning of their past, the Dishonored could only think to learn of and improve upon it. They had made grievous mistakes, for what other purpose would they feel inclined to follow the path of redemption? All they could do now was act, to prove their worth. Through action, the wisp would be redeemed. The Dishonored allowed their eyes to be stimulated once more as the Ancient's tone began to shift, mentioning the assistance necessary to arm the wisps. The Dishonored only barely caught the sight of the Ancient crushing the flower, the tongue he murmured causing two other wispy shapes to manifest on either side of him.

Once the figure's full physicality had came to realization, the Dishonored prepared to receive their blessing. The wisp wasn't sure what to expect, be it pain, warmth, or an entirely unfamiliar feeling. After the weapons of redemption had been offered, the Dishonored met Dwynn's eyes only briefly before lowering themselves into a bow. The wisp extended their arms in front of them, continuing to bow their head before the tall wisp. The Dishonored's palms faced upwards, preparing to receive the weapon of redemption yet to be bestowed. As the wisp's own shadow converged at its core, the weight and adrenaline that inflicted the wisp felt akin to a call to action. Nevertheless, the wisp endured until the feeling had ran its course. Mere moments later, the wisp was met with an overwhelming sense of tranquility, like a Buddhist elevating to the peak of enlightenment. Through all this, the Dishonored Wisp had not moved - their hands still held out, ready to receive the embodiment of their fate.

The Dishonored Wisp's shadow began to creep up their arm, beginning to manifest from the right hand and extending from the left. In mere moments, the wisp's upturned palms now cradled an extremely large blade. The hilt rested along the wisps' right hand, while the sheathed blade found leverage as it reached all the way to the wisp's left hand. As soon as the sword had completed itself, the Dishonored carefully lowered the weapon of war to the ground, treating it with great care. After placing the weapon, the wisp bowed its head down even further, planting both hands on the cold surface that served as solid ground. With great conviction, the wisp muttered to itself. "You are an extension of myself. I of you. We are one."

After a drawn out breath, the wisp finished their formality, raising their head and taking hold of the ōdachi's grip. Kneeling no longer, the Dishonored Wisp's traced their left hand's thumb along the scabbard, before drawing the titanic blade from it - taking a moment to secure the scabbard to his back. Bringing his attention back to the weapon itself, he rotated the blade - a glint of light reflecting off the metal. Admiring the beauty of the blade's craftwork, the Dishonored Wisp could not help but realize how deeply the weapon resonated with them. The wisp's eyes sought out the others, watching as they gained the trust of their armaments. Everyone had received their weapons - now, what challenge would they face?


The fleeting time the wisps had been given faded away as they were called to attention once more, the Ancient announcing his parting statement to the warriors. “Their blessings are yours to keep, but now you must prove your worth in utilizing them.” Hearing this, the Wisp knew what would have to be done. This would be a test, to prove their worth - to prove that the blessings they had received were earned. The Dishonored Wisp would not part with the tool of his redemption so easily. As Vystari and Dwynn prepared for combat, their words of regret and hope were met with a brief silence. In mere moments, the battle erupted.

Interestingly enough, the Determined Wisp had acted first, attempting to rally the rest of the wisps to engage the two Ancient foes. Thus far, a few of them had already lept into action, with two occupying the blackened soul and one intercepting the silvered. As Vystari was occupied by the Glaive wielder, the Dishonored Wisp hastily repositioned themselves and attempted to get behind the short-sword wielder, looking for an opening to strike her back. Entering a bloodthirsty wrath-guard stance, the Dishonored Wisp advanced forward and brought the blade around, cutting through the airduring the sweeping motion. Even though the blade possessed length akin to the user's height, the cut remained swift - the wisp using their body and footwork to extend the weapon's reach.




Juju seasonedcat Siren77 SirDerpingtonIV The True Plague

 

[seasonedcat]

Nothing was fair. The whisp didn't want to fight but no matter how little intent it showed, the world continued to push them forward towards being the 'hero' of the story. They wanted nothing more then to fade away, but the man wouldn't let them. Somehow their lack of resolve or determination did not cause them to be removed from the running, but rather boosted in such. To be honest, this was quite annoying. The whisp let out a long sigh as the man explained shit, purposefully blocking it out in hopes that if they did it would cause them to be removed from this so called group. They didn't want this fate, and if they were going to be forced to have it, they sure as hell weren't going to bother trying.

The sparkling light hovered infront of them for a momment and for a momment they stared at it with wide eyes. When it shot inwards, directed at their chest, for a momment they thought that they were dead. They held their breath as they waited for the world to fade before realizing it wasn't. Their chest felt light and so did their mind. They felt ready to try. Maybe everything wasn't as hopeless as they thought?

The light in their chest and in their mind faded as they returned to themself. Brushing off the hope inside them they gazed down at the light that transfered to their hand. They let out a sigh, ignoring their earlier courage and hope as they regained the emptiness. The light didn't kill them qnd now they were to continue moving forward. As the light morphed and bended it slowly became into a shape of a harp of sorts? It was difficult to describe or understand. But without knowing much of it, they knew what they could do with this. Less of a harp more of a bow. Blade bow? Whatever.

The whisp looked at the enemies with little conviction as they witnessed the others take to actions, preparing and acting to fight. They left out a sigh, glancing down at their weapon and then back at the fighting. Yawning lightly, they bent over, dusting off a large rock. They sat themself down gently atop it, leaning their weapon against it. If he was going to watch then let him realize that they won't fight. This is pointless. Hopeless. And they would be damned if they fought for another lost cause.

 

[Siren77]

Vystari hissed with pain was the razor sharp edge of The Dishonored’s ōdachi sliced through their backside, spilling more of their blood to seep into the cracked stone beneath their feet. They had been so occupied by the dual sided Glaive of The Defeated that their tail end had been left exposed to another member of their numbers. Growling with an experienced ferocity, she’d bring her short sword down stiffly into the next advancing edge of the Glaive wielder, providing enough force at such speed to redirect and drive it into the stone and leave it stuck there. Before The Dishonored would get another chance to strike, she’d occupy The Defeated by grappling around the shaft of their embedded weapon and driving her left foot across their chin, backed by the momentum of her body.

The Defeated’s Weapon has been disabled!

While Vystari had every intention of punishing the disarmed wisp for her own pain, she knew of the danger still lying to her right flank. So, dashing with the same blinding speed as before as if unburdened by her sustained injuries, she advanced on the lone wisp and began brazenly striking in rapid succession as to overwhelm the ōdachi wielder. They were swift with their blade, experienced even in spite of their new life, and used their body quite effectively to utilize the weapon with efficiency. But even still, a weapon of that size would not be able to keep up with the speed of her own short sword, save it be on a total defensive.

With every movement and strike dead set on overwhelming him, forward advancement would slowly be made. One of the crumbled walls of The Ancients keep lingered directly behind the flurry, proving there to be limited time before The Dishonored i.

Meanwhile in the second skirmish, Dwynn suffered great frustration with the two Wisps lingering before him. The one wielding an odd selection of weaponry pinned down his Lance, but before he could strike with his Chakram, another did joined wielding a Khopesh and studded bracer to restrain his other weapon. Much to his fortune, they could do nothing more than pin him down in the moment, giving him ample time to react before their next move.

Releasing his Chakram, Dwynn swung upwards with his fist, firmly connecting with The Devoids unformed jaw. The disc shaped weapon was then retrieved, and swung with the intent to slice The Determined’s throat. The Chakram made contact, digging into the side of their lucid neck, but was halted by the angled staff they bore just before the cut could become any deeper. Gritting their teeth in annoyance, Dwynn pinned the back end of his lance against his back, and used the extra leverage to unpin it and lashed at an angle to push The Determined away from him. He was hellbent in giving chase, only for his blackened eyes to view the lone figure sitting away from the battle.

The Depressed had chosen to remain abstinent from the battle, and for what reason he was not sure. Did they remain perched on their stone out of fear? Or perhaps they thought their companions could handle the two risen visages. Whatever the case, it maddened the Darkened Wisp to no end. These two could wait, this one clearly was not worthy of the gifts Vystari had given them. A blessing of courage, and a fine weapon of silver to do battle with, and yet still they wished not to fight. Clearly they craved death if they were not willing to take a stand, so Dwynn would gladly entertain their pleas.

Hoisting up the Lance above his shoulder, Dwynn held the Chakram forward to steady himself. It was not much longer than a second later that his slender arm reeled back and thrusted the Lance forward and out of his arms, letting it hurl beyond his reach. His aim was true, and the tip of the Lance punctured and buried itself through the torso of The Depressed, sending them flying from their perch on the rock and pinning them into the stone below. A White and Odorless blood would begin to gush from their wound, pooling around the wisp.

The Depressed is soon to perish if not helped.
——————————
kasigi (The Dishonored) Juju (The Determined) The True Plague (The Devoid) seasonedcat (The Depressed)

 

[Juju]

Determined Siren77 seasonedcat
The chakram tore into Determined's throat with all the ease and hunger of a wolf's fang. Ethereal blood painted the curved blade as it dug deep and would have snipped it cleanly in two if not for the gnarled staff of twisted vines. The wisp cried out in pain, clutching their staff like a lifeline, only for their own momentum to be used against them to free the lance.

Dwynn's strike sent them flying back, rolling across the crumbling floor in a trail of spilt blood. Their lantern staff clattered to a halt beside them, casting its eerie glow upon the pool of blood gathering beneath it. In a daze, Determined let out a groan and curled up, placing their hand against the bloody mess of their neck. Blood flowed between their fingers, dripping away the essence of their new existence. A cold crept in, reminding them of just how close death stalked behind them.

Their eyes lifted up to see Dwynn approach, only to stop in his tracks and redirect his ire towards the Depressed. His spear flew with practised precision, impaling the seated wisp right through their stomach and pinning them to a wall.

"No!" Determined cried out, feeling tears of anger collect below their would-be eyes. The shout brought with it a stab of pain and a fresh gush of blood from between their fingers. All around them their fellow wisps were fighting their own battles, some seemingly out of their favour. Some had suffered their own blows while others found themselves weaponless.

The rage grew as Dwynn closed in on his prey, the same wisp that Determined had pulled from the flames. They had been sitting out of the battle, like a craven, while the others fought. It was no wonder they had drawn death's gaze, but somehow that only made Determined even more set on denying it. The ancient warrior had said not to meddle with the fates of others, but they had no right to speak of such. Those ancient beings had slaughtered so many souls without an afterthought. It was unforgivable. Already they had taken too much, and Determined would not allow them to snuff out another soul.

To fight in this condition was hopeless. Just reaching for their redeemed weapon brought unbearable pain and a loss of blood. If it grasped its staff surely their lifeblood would seep out, but what choice did they have? They couldn't just wait for death like that damned fool Depressed. Their fingers wrapped around their weapon, pulling it closer to them. Pale blood smeared onto the black vines, seeping into the fibres. The lantern lay in the pool of blood, glowing with a hollow blaze.

"Be redeemed in the heat of battle. That's what you said, right?" Determined said, rising up onto unsteady feet. They let their bloody hand drop to the staff, leaving a steaming hand print. Streams of pale blood flowed down their arm like snakes, seeking out the weapon.

They took a step towards Dwynn, then another. His back was turned, no doubt thinking he could finish off the Depressed. The wisp tightened their grip on their staff until it hurt. "and use your drive-"

Determined began to charge, swinging their lantern like a morning-star. The afterglow of the light created an almost perfect circle. "-to crush our enemies!"

With a single, brutal swing, Determined brought the weight of their lantern down across Dwynn's legs, hoping to destroy his knees.