The Lotus Blossoms!

[Ascension]

In the stands, Jai turns earnestly bewildered eyes on Ivory Knife. The first round's victor. His idol. Surely she has some explanation for what's going on, right?

"What... what happened to Mourning Blade?!" he pleads for an answer, voice trembling. "What's she doing?"

In the presence of Mourning Blade's dread aura, even King Harnapuul's vacant-eyed palanquin-bearers are affected. Those nearest them can hear that they've begun softly gibbering nonsense to themselves.

[Eurus]

A vortex of terrible shadows, with two women at its center... that detached, appraising part of Ivory Knife has to admire the display, even as she trembles at the sound of it. She can't explain it, not in any real terms. The sword is wailing, from some dark magic or tormented spirit, and Mourning Blade's terrible power is battering against all of their minds; an explanation seems almost unnecessary right now.

But... listen.

Ivory Knife is a connoisseur of tears. She knows the disbelieving shriek of a man faced with imminent death at the hands of a faceless, brutal conqueror. She knows the agonized wail of a woman holding the body of her child. She knows the sounds of pain, and loss, and grief, because the world is a terrible place and you cannot live in it for long without becoming an expert on tragedy, if you don't avert your eyes from it.

"It's alright, Jai. She's... sad, and afraid."

Mourning Blade's sword sounds like pain, and rage, and the desire to inflict that pain on others because it seems impossible to endure alone. But it also sounds like loss, and loneliness. Stepping over to Jai, she wordlessly reaches down and offers her hand to him, while she lets the sorrow flow into her.

"...Do you know this song?"

Tears pricking her eyes, she reaches for a soft, swaying song. Not an official hymn, but a folk song, one of those old ones that nobody can quite recall the origins of. It's probably familiar to most people; in her town it was used for everything from weddings to lullabies to funerals, since the tune is so peaceful and pretty even with the melancholy lyrics. But here, it seems especially appropriate. The dead shouldn't have to mourn themselves.

"A soul of water,
A soul of stone,
A soul by name,
A soul unknown.
The Hours unmake
Our flesh, our bone-
The Soul is all
And all alone."

Spoiler: OOC

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Ivory Knife will make a perform check to inspire feelings of peace and nostalgia in everyone. I'm not sure if it's possible to inspire the sword itself, but if it can hear, count it in too, heh. Six motes for a 7-die excellency (leaving her at 1), may as well go hard.

Manip(5)+Perform(5)+Stunt(2)+HPM(3)+Excellency(5)-penalty(2)
(20d10)[9][5][6][4][5][7][3][8][1][7][6][7][9][8][9][9][1][7][5][10](126)

[Confrog]

"Pale Lady take her," says Risi, making a quick Tengese gesture to ward off evil. His gaze rests intently on Mourning Blade's sword, darting from it to the dark mark on her forehead and back again. These displays of power, this is the true danger of the Solars that his mentor had warned him of. White Sands Physician had told him of the power they held over the world, over the life and death of others, but to be powered by the Essence of death... This is far worse.

[Sticks]

Brown Leaf grimaced as that hateful caste mark came into view. With a grunt, she released her hold, it had become more of a liability than an aid at this point. With her best effort, she moved to parry the blows raining down on her. A literal roar bursts from her teeth, audible even through the sword's wailing. Though she had been struck in her mid-section and face, the only place blood flowed was from her forarms and hands, the same weeping blood that trickled from the Abyssal's forehead. It dribbled in rivulets from behind the tattoos, though no cuts could be seen there, while at the same time a dark miasma floated upwards before dissipating in the flurry of sun-sand.

Spoiler: OOC

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Using Undying Predator Roar (1wp) to end Celestial Tiger Hide against the Decisive attack, reducing the raw damage by my essence (2)

[Inspector Valin]

Wic seems unaffected by the keening of Mourning Blade's sword, or the tempest of shadow that surrounds her, continuing to watch the fight mostly in silence. However, upon hearing them finally speak, the traveller glances at the servitors curiously. For the silent attendants to finally start talking so incoherently is odd. He'd not really paid them much mind, assuming the four were merely disciplined hirelings, but now the Whitewaller casts a more sceptical eye across the quartet. Just what sort of servants did this southern king employ? Was Harnapuul a necromancer, or patron to necromancers?

Spoiler

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(10d10)[1][7][4][7][3][5][10][1][7][5](50) Perception+Occult+Stunt
(12d10)[5][2][2][6][3][2][9][9][4][2][6][4](54) Int+Lore+Stunt

He'd turned back to the ring when Ivory Knife begun to sing. The words are half familiar: he knows a version, not quite the same, but the tone in the southern woman's voice is amazing. Listening to her, Wic almost forgets the fight; Brown Leaf, Mourning Blade, Lupo and everything else. He's...

He's in his office. Sitting behind a rich old desk of proud mahogany, that'd been passed down from Stantons long since dead. A portrait of Wirric, painted on his majority hung above his well made chair, looking down on any visitors. They'd given him a white jacket with gold trim, a white jade sword instead of his cane, and perhaps more muscles than the hapless boy could've achieved in a lifetime. He'd always hated it, he disliked such an obviously over-stuffed image of himself, but it was something to put up with. Family tradition. His focus instead generally lay with the cosy hearth behind the desk. Wic can feel the heat of the flames licking at his back; a welcome relief after trekking through the darkest passages of Undertun.

He turns, checking the kettle has yet to boil, before going back to his correspondence. There was always something that needed to be taken care of. A patron who wanted to talk to him about an upcoming fixture, a supplier who wanted to negotiate personally, some dreary request from the Old Man. His work here was predictable, but... normal. Soothing. This was his office, his little hidey hole beneath the earth, where all his problems could be laid out and sorted neatly. The place where he was in control, and the rest of the world couldn't bother him. He came here to think as much as to work. To ponder.

A howl echoes at the door, from some distant passageway. Like a wolf's cry, but deeper. Distorted. There's the sickening sound of metal scraping against stone, the clang of creatures beating against hard metal. And the gentle wafting scent of burning desulilly from his lab...

Cold. Even beneath the hot southern sun, Wic feels cold as the darkest night of Calibration. He takes a deep ragged breath, mind elsewhere as he tries slowly to rally himself. Blinking a little, he looks up at Ivory Knife, almost stupefied. That... he lacked the words to quite describe her performance, but it will linger with him for a while. For better or for worse.

At Risi's invocation, Wic tuts; regardless of the language, he can follow his counterpart's tone. "Don't judge, Doctor. Monsters can be people too." Still, the Tengese healer was right to be concerned: this fight was taking a bloody turn. With a sigh, Wirric rises, slinging his satchel over one shoulder and holding his cane in the other. This might not be quite the end of the match but both of the combatants are taking serious injury; both of them should be on hand. Slowly, he potters down towards the ring, ready to bandage and tend to wounds once the fight was over. That was the way to deal with emotional baggage. Focus on the job. The work. Do what needs doing and let other worries recede into the background, ready for later.

Still, as he goes, Wic echoes the final part of Ivory's song quietly to himself; his Old Realm close enough to the original lyrics to be just about identifiable,

"The Hours unmake
Our flesh, our bone-
The Soul is all
And all alone."

[Sticks]

Initiative -2

The wailing blade sliced upwards, her fists were too slow...but Brown Leaf saw an opening. As the souls given the shape of metal cut through her mail, pierced her skin and scraped against her ribs, she extended the fingers on her right hand. If there was one thing she did well, it was hit things.

The fingers entered the arc of the blade, the tough, calloused skin parting like paper, followed by sinew and then bone. A hiss of breath left her at the pain, at the sudden feeling of separation, but her face was split by what was either a grimace of pain, or a feral grin, all of her teeth showing, her hot breath blowing right into the Abyssal's face; in that breath, she uttered her first words of the match "What is your Name?". The bones that had split stone and crumpled jade had turned the blade just enough that at the peak of the arc, it had gone wide.

The pain was agony, but Brown Leaf pushed through, a scything upward left-handed strike went towards the arm that held the cursed sword.

Spoiler: OOC

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Withering attack at the Sword's initiative, adding 2m for excellency + stunt 2.
(16d10)[5][9][4][5][8][1][10][9][1][9][6][10][6][6][6][7](102)

Ookay, making that roll now:

Spoiler: Withering Attack damage vs. Sword

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(16d10)[5][9][4][5][8][1][10][9][1][9][6][10][6][6][6][7](102)

[Confrog]

Risi stands up and follows Wirric down to the edge of the arena, catching up to him fairly quickly.

"And yet I find the worst monsters in Creation are people," he replies in Old Realm. "As much as we all here may have powers, I can only believe that we are all still people, despite any claims to monstrosity any might might."

Risi takes a seat next to the edge of the arena, cross-legged with his medical bag in his lap.

"Though I suppose that all of us were monsters at one time, being reincarnations of the Solars who once were."

[pfm1995]

Revulsion and horror writ large across his body, the apple falls from Tuoni's hand forgotten as he turns to glare daggers at Ivory Knife and her song. "No. Not alone. Souls writhe in torment inside her sword, chained and twisted and tortured; it's their screams we hear. I don't know what Mourning Blade is, but that weapon is an abomination. And she makes it the center of her art."

Standing, he leans heavily on his staff as he descends to the edge of the area as well. Unlike the others, though, he's not making any preparations to be treating the wounded.

[Ascension]

Spoiler: Wic

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No, the palanquin-bearers aren't undead... but now that Wic takes a closer look at them, he suspects he does know what they are. Their vacant eyes, their mute obedience, their complete disregard for anything in the world beyond their master and their immediate orders... they resemble nothing so much as the dream-eaten victims of the Fae.

The jarring blow to her sword arm throws Mourning Blade off-pace, sending her staggering back a step, clutching at her elbow. But more than the pain, it's the circumstances that give her pause. The blood soaking into her sword. The severed fingers lying in the dust. The incongruous peacefulness of Ivory Knife's song as it cuts through her soulsteel's keening.

And Brown Leaf's question.

-there's a difference between anticipating death and truly being prepared for it. That's a hard lesson to learn while you're dying.

She'd hoped it might not end this way, even as she told herself it would. Maybe she would be fast enough, or strong enough. Maybe she could make a difference.

But hope doesn't count for much in the slums of Wu-Jian.

She wondered who would find her body first. Probably the rats. She hoped it would be the rats. Down in the bilge stacks, the possibilities only got worse from there.

And yet, nothing in her life up to that point had prepared her for what actually found her in that puddle of blood and seawater and filth, or what happened in the nights and days that followed.

"It should've been the rats," she mumbles to herself.

Above, The Golden Lord, the wise judge, usually an impassive pillar of strength, shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

"We have seen enough, Lupo," he says, quiet but firm. "This goes too far. Even occasioning her... powers, you instructed them not to kill each other."

"Wait," Lupo asks him again, and steps forward again, back to the edge of the balcony.

"What do you see, Lawgivers?" he asks, loud enough to carry above the screams and sobs of Mourning Blade's tormented sword. His own eyes seem, for the first time, distant and unfocused, staring past the fighters now rather than zeroed in on their every movement.

[Inspector Valin]

Risi stands up and follows Wirric down to the edge of the arena, catching up to him fairly quickly.

"And yet I find the worst monsters in Creation are people," he replies in Old Realm. "As much as we all here may have powers, I can only believe that we are all still people, despite any claims to monstrosity any might might."

Risi takes a seat next to the edge of the arena, cross-legged with his medical bag in his lap.

"Though I suppose that all of us were monsters at one time, being reincarnations of the Solars who once were."

"Pff. Who taught you about reincarnation? An Immaculate?"

Wic snorts derisively. He wants to lecture Risi about the topic, glad to have some degree of superiority over the Glorious Physician but against the screams and tears of Mourning Blade's... blade, the other Solar judges this the wrong moment for an extended talk. He leans upon his cane, watching the match beside Risi, and settles for dispensing some simple advice to his colleague, with a touch of compassion flickering behind his gaze for a moment. "Never take the responsibility for someone else's bad decisions, Smiles. You're you, not some long dead Chosen muckity muck."

Above, The Golden Lord, the wise judge, usually an impassive pillar of strength, shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

"We have seen enough, Lupo," he says, quiet but firm. "This goes too far. Even occasioning her... powers, you instructed them not to kill each other."

"Wait," Lupo asks him again, and steps forward again, back to the edge of the balcony.

"What do you see, Lawgivers?" he asks, loud enough to carry above the screams and sobs of Mourning Blade's tormented sword. His own eyes seem, for the first time, distant and unfocused, staring past the fighters now rather than zeroed in on their every movement.

A swordswoman pushed to her physical and emotional limit fighting a blood crazed lunatic?

It's an unkind thought to both parties, and Wic makes the effort to suppress it. Instead, after a moment spent looking at the pair and meditating on abstract quasi-wise phrasiology, he calls back above the din. "Two fighters. Bloody and beaten. One facing fear, the other anger."

That's technically enough for what Lupo asked of them, but Wic is unwilling to let it rest quite there. This has indeed gotten too bloody. He, a relative novitiate might not be able to end this fight quickly or cleanly, but one man here undoubtedly could, and should. Gritting his teeth, the northerner raises an arm to shield his eyes pushes against the whirling sand, the shadow and the unending cacophony that seemed to fill the air. With weighty tread, he moves as close as he can to the edge of the former Imperial Box. Once he gets there, he plants his heels firmly in the sand of the ring, trying to anchor himself against the pandemonium. Wic's unruly yellow hair flies every which way as he bellows upwards above the din, "Grandmaster, I'm with the Golden Lord! This fight has gone too far. What more is there to learn from this?"

Using his stick as a cane, Wic gestures behind him to the two still brawling combatants. He doesn't move his gaze away from Lupo's vacant eyes for a second, however. As distracted as the elder might be, Wirric's focus is as sharp as a knife, and as hot as the flames of Hesiesh. When he speaks, the bell of judgement sounds and every syllable seems like unassailable fact; the judgement of Creation's Law. "Brown Leaf lacks composure, dignity or restraint. Her 'style' is barely focused anger and brute strength. She's injured herself just trying to win a non lethal contest, to a degree perhaps not even Master Risi will be able to repair. And whilst beset by doubts and pain, Mourning Blade has persevered and demonstrated the strength of her form. Only one of these combatants has shown themselves worthy of the Perfected Lotus. And you don't need to see one. more. blow to know who that is!"

With each of those three words, Wic raps the golden head of his cane upon the stone of the arena wall, punctuating his remark with the force of what had once been his symbol of office. Wic's strikes lack the strength to crack and splinter the ancient masonry, but nonetheless the stones shudder more and more with each beat of the cane, shaking the revered gods and Lupo alike in their distant seats as if an earthquake were about to begin. Even once Wic's speech is done, the box still reverberates with the force of those humble blows. It has been many long and dusty centuries since the Arena of the Sun last felt the touch of Orichalcum, but it remembers the power of the sunmetal all too well.

Spoiler

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(14d10)[5][9][5][5][6][7][2][4][7][4][3][5][9][5](76) Persuade action to get Lupo to declare the match over, with Mourning Blade the effective victor. Presence + Charisma + Stunt - Penalty. Activating Listener Swaying Argument and Impassioned Discourse Technique, 6 motes from personal. Impassioned Discourse Technique is gonna key off of Wic's defining principle of "Monster is a matter of perspective", adding four dice to the roll (already included) Listener Swaying gives me up to three non-charm bonus dice if Lupo boosts his resolve in any way; two points of boost get me a bonus die. Rolling those below

Spoiler: Extras!

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(3d10)[8][4][2](14)

And both grant me an auto-success. So this is starting at 2. And I'm going to pump that extra temporary WP you just gave me to bring that up to 3 automatic successes. While Wic doesn't know Lupo's intimacies, he's trying to appeal to an assumed positive tie towards Martial Arts as a concept, or a principle surrounding it. He feels that holding this tournament is a sign Lupo has standards about who should practice CMAs, and Wic's trying to argue that Leaf fails any such standards.

[Sticks]

Initiative: 8
Brown Leaf finally has an opportunity. With the sword wide, she shifted her stance and leaped over Mourning Blade, her feet leaving deep marks in the stone. She flipped mid-air landing behind the abyssal again, the arena cratering around them, the better to unbalance her foe. With perfect calm, she said again "What is your name?"

Spoiler: Charms & Such

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Foe-Vaulting Method (3i)
Athletics + Dexterity + Specialty + Stunt

Spoiler: roll to establish surprise

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(10d10)[2][5][5][8][6][8][4][3][2][3](46)

Spoiler: Threaten

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(6d10)[3][3][7][8][6][10](37)

Her bare feet found the crack in the arena Ivory Knife made only moments before. With a twist, she shoves her toes into that crevice, before whipping her foot up in a roundhouse kick. There is an audible crunch as a small slab comes free, carried on the top of her foot before slamming into Mourning Blade's side.

Spoiler: [S

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Zenith Tiger Strike![/S]]Utilizing Zenith Anima ability (5m) in conjunction with Leap from Cloaking Shadows (5m 1wp) as part of angry predator frenzy, along with six excellencies (6m) and Stunt 2. 9's are doubled, as are 8's if Brown Leaf's FVM surpassed Mourning Blade's Evasion.

Spoiler

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(17d10)[2][10][2][1][9][8][6][4][4][10][5][5][6][3][7][8][7](97)

Damage will come after

Edit:

Spoiler: OOC

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For Posterity: Edited due to a misreading of the rules and a permitted re-do of the combat round.

[Eurus]

Ivory Knife hears Lupo, but she might as well have been oblivious to him for all the response she gives. While the others rushed down the steps, she has remained still, watching from above as her song trails off.

"What do you see, Lawgivers?"

What does she see? Too much, sometimes. Not just Brown Leaf and Mourning Blade, but Lupo and Wirric, Tuoni and Risi... For once, there's no emotion playing across her face for everyone to see; she has nothing to express, so she might as well be carved from stone. She just watches, silently recognizing the struggles playing out without passing judgment.

She does, however, spare Jai a smile. Something to cut the tension, at least.

[pfm1995]

"What do you see, Lawgivers?"

"Two fighters, and a fight not yet finished."

Tuoni makes no grand gestures; he leans heavily on his staff and struggles to make his malformed voice heard over the shrieking of excruciated souls. Lookinging alternately to Wic and Lupo, the defeated fighter's tone lacks any power but quiet determination. He speaks as a mortal would.

"This is not a bout to learn who is worthy of the Flower, but who is capable. You see anger and brute strength, but you miss the control. You say she injured herself, but you miss the point of that: she paid that price that the bout may continue; she sees the prize as worth the sacrifice. Let that sacrifice mean something. Let them push themselves, and let the bout continue."

He pauses, briefly, to pass a handkerchief up under the mask and wipe at his mouth. "Lupo. One of these contestants wields a sword forged of tormented souls, and is striking to kill. The other fights on, regardless, striking only to wound."

"When I offered my bout's end without undue harm, you called me weak and demanded that we finish. You were right to correct me. Do not call this bout until you are sure you've seen their true strength."

[Ascension]

Staggered as she is, guard open, there's no way Mourning Blade can move fast enough to block Brown Leaf's vicious kick.

And yet...

Impossibility is the domain of the Exalted. In a flare of death essence, she is fast enough, turning to meet the splintered shale with the flat of her blade, sending it spinning harmlessly away.

"My name is lost to me," Mourning Blade mutters, just barely loud enough to carry to Brown Leaf's ears.

She feints with her blade, buying just enough space to dip into a crouch and retrieve her fallen scabbard.

"My dreams are lost to me," she continues, poising the point of her sword at the very threshold of its sheath. The tenor of its cry pitches higher, climbing toward a shriek, and a visible miasma of shadowed souls and vaporized blood ripples across its blade. Or maybe that's merely her anima?

"Just let this end," she begs.

Above the arena, Lupo's face remains impassive as he hears out Wic and Tuoni's arguments. It's only as Brown Leaf tenses to spring, ready to deliver her next blow, that he shouts out across the field of battle, voice carrying clear and strong over the sword's screaming.

"Brown Leaf," he asks, "if I asked you to stay your hand now, could you master your hatred? Or is it the master of you?"

Spoiler: OOC

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Mourning Blade (Initiative: 13) uses a Ready Weapon action to retrieve the scabbard she dropped when she botched earlier, consuming her turn and reducing her Defense by 1.

I won't be rolling for Lupo's question. Rather than looking to dice and numbers to resolve this situation, I'd like to hear how Brown Leaf would honestly answer, Sticks.

It's now Brown Leaf's action (Initiative: 8).

[Sticks]

Initiative:8

"It ain't about hatred, Sifu!" Brown Leaf cried as she slammed a foot forward, kicking up a furrow of stone to foil Mourning Blade's footwork.

"It's 'bout redemption, her's n' their's!" She followed that planted foot with a side-kick, aiming for the knee.

"I ain't gonna stop 'till I can't fight no more, or all'a them souls what we hear screamin' 'r free!" She finished with a full-body twist, throwing both arms forward in a double body-blow, one aimed for the midriff, the other at the throat.

Spoiler: Withering attack

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Spending 5m on MA Excellencies, Stunt 2

Spoiler: rolls

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(19d10)[4][10][10][9][10][10][8][4][1][1][7][3][1][7][9][6][3][10][2](115)

After the tiger kata was finished, she looked at her opponent, so calm, so in-control, a proud warrior, a worthy opponent any day, she'd had the better of Brown Leaf several times in the last few moments. While she burned with hatred, she knew not all of it was her own. She could feel the blood running from her stripes, the twinge of the underworld beneath her skin. She spoke to the nameless woman in front of her.

"Ifn' you can let go'a that sword, let me destroy it, I 'kin live with you livin'."

[Ascension]

As Brown Leaf attacks, Mourning Blade tenses, nearly sheathing her sword, but something causes a split second's hesitation, and that moment is hesitation enough for Brown Leaf to strike her first, the monk's powerful blows sending her sliding back several feet across the dusty shale.

Blade coughs, spits blood into the dirt. The eyes which find Brown Leaf's have lived beyond hope.

"You don't realize what you're asking," she croaks, hoarse from Leaf's blow and her own inner turmoil. "Could you even endure this sword's curse?"

And then, then she sheathes The Mourning Blade.

As the sword begins to slide home, its entire chorus of weeping souls unites in a single note, a single prolonged shriek. The sun itself dims as the shadow of Mourning Blade's anima mounts into the sky. Tear-salted dew condenses on every surface as the temperature suddenly plummets.

And then, just before it is silenced by its sheath, the sword's rising scream reaches its apex, transmuting from sound into physical force. The ground beneath the fighters' feet splits and breaks, and the scream crashes into Brown Leaf with soul-rending fury...

Spoiler: OOC

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Mourning Blade pours 4m into "Spirit Strengthens The Skin" to raise her soak, but you succeeded with 10 threshold successes on that attack, meaning that with the Tiger Form bonus factored in, you're still dealing 21 dice of Withering damage, post-soak. It's all but guaranteed that you pass Blade in Initiative, and realistically possible that you've Crashed her (though you'd need some luck to do so).

I'm kind of sidestepping that to allow Blade to reply before Brown Leaf acts again, however, both because it makes narrative sense and because technically sheathing your weapon is a reflexive action, so I can do it at any time.

And in the case of The Mourning Blade, sheathing your weapon is a Decisive Attack. It's unblockable, meaning you can't apply Parry to defend against it, only Evasion, it's rolled with a free full Excellency, and it has range and damage dependent on the intensity of the sword's effect, affecting everyone within range, with no friendly fire exemption (except that it ignores the sword's own wielder - no one else).

Unfortunately for Brown Leaf, she's the only person within range right now, so the attack is entirely focused on her.

Regardless of the result of this attack, Mourning Blade will give up the sword and withdraw from this tournament after it's resolved, but I imagine that everyone's else's reaction will differ depending on what condition Brown Leaf is in afterward.

Let's find out.

Spoiler: Rolls

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Attack: (19d10)[5][7][3][2][4][9][8][9][2][7][8][6][8][3][2][9][8][9][9](118), unblockable
Damage: (6d10)[10][6][7][4][9][4](40), ignoring Hardness

[Inspector Valin]

Wic turns back to the fight with Lupo's words, sparing Tuoni a frosty glance but nothing more. Words and blows fly. Threats and promises. Through it all, the Twilight's eyes are narrowed, watching the two. Once again, he's just an observer, and once again that fact eats at him a little. The Whitewaller doesn't blink as the Mourning Blade's souls emit that final keening note. Instead the Twilight plants the tip of his cane in the ground, as if to anchor himself against the impact, and lets the weakened remnants of the cry wash over him. His hair is blown backwards one final time before falling still, as the sandstorm that had engulfed the arena slowly comes to rest.

[Sticks]

With a shout barely audible over the scream of the Mourning Blade, Brown Leaf sent a flood of essence to the outer layers of her skin briefly, before drawing it all back in. There would be no blocking this, no way to endure it. The wave of force emanating from that sheath was impossible to escape, her only recourse was to break it, her specialty.

The shout surged into a defiant roar, a wave of force that cut through the dark surge of energy, followed by a well-aimed kick towards the hilt of the sword. Brown Leaf was scoured by the abyssal essence, but perhaps she had done enough to mitigate it.

Spoiler: Charms

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Reflexively using Celestial Tiger's Hide(5m), and reflexively using Undying Predator Roar (1wp) to end the effect and reduce the damage.

[Ascension]

Mourning Blade's eyes go wide as Brown Leaf stands in the face of the sword's scream and endures it. When the monk comes clawing back through the dark curtains of her anima, not only still standing, but still fighting, she slackens her grip on her sword and allows it to be knocked from her grasp. It tumbles, falls, slides to a stop in the dust near where Wic, Risi, and Tuoni have gathered at the edge of the arena, well out of her reach.

"You are strong," she gasps, her voice suddenly loud in the midst of the unfamiliar silence. She drops to a knee, dips her head, raises her empty hands in supplication.

"I yield," she blurts out, and then, again, more confidently, "I yield."

She pauses, takes a breath to steady herself. Her anima flickers, curls in on itself. The sun above brightens back to full radiance.

Fresh salt tears pour down her face, but she laughs, bitterly.

"The Bodhisattva would be... proud," she says, and dissolves into another fit of ugly laughter, laughs that turn back into sobs, racking her body and spraying blood and tears into the dust at her feet.

"I'm finally letting go of my attachments."

[Sticks]

Brown Leaf had begun to draw back for another blow when everything changed. Her opponent was disarmed, the hateful blade was out of her reach. The wailing had stopped. She looked around at her fellow Solars, the gods in the stands, and then down at the nameless woman. She was crying, laughing, crying again. How? She was an enemy, she...

With a sudden movement, Brown Leaf's fist flew upward, striking herself in the forehead. At once, essence dissipated, the pain jarring her back to herself. The blood on her arms only came from visible cuts now, and the stumps of three fingers on her right hand. Words reached her, coming through the fog of her mind that was slowly parting as though pierced by sunlight.

"The Bodhisattva would be... proud, I'm finally letting go of my attachments."

"That...that's the first step." Brown Leaf said to the woman at her feet, before she too fell to her knees (cracking the already abused stone).

Once she was on-level, she teetered forward, pulling her former opponent into a tight embrace, her fingers, still slick with blood, gently gripping the other's hair.

"Thanks...thanks 'fer makin' sure I didn't make a terrible mistake."

At this point, they were supporting each other.

[Inspector Valin]

Wic watches the final moments of the battle with that same sceptical eye. The end of the world might come, and he'd still be there, standing stock still and leaning upon his cane. As the two women collapse, holding one another up, the northerner mutters his commentary on the two to himself, in a voice low enough for only he and Tuoni to hear. "You two are both idiots. Overly emotional idiots."

There's no reproach to Wic's words now though. More a note of quiet fondness for the pair. Pushing himself upwards, Wic calls across the arena, "Risi! Get off that golden posterior and come help." Striding across the arena to also join the two, Wic's path briefly crosses that of the discarded soulsteel sword. He looks down at Mourning Blade's namesake, pondering the power of the discarded artifact and the bleak potential of its origin, before dismissing it for the moment. In a few moments, he's kneeling beside Mourning Blade and Brown Leaf, a pale white salve in hand and the end of a bandage poking out from the top of his bag. The northerner smiles quietly at his comrades. Both these two have fought their hardest. Whatever else he might think, they are both deserving of his care.

Spoiler

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(12d10)[3][10][5][4][6][6][7][2][5][3][1][8](60) Int+Medicine+Stunt to treat Mourning Blade. That's a mechanical call: Wic's not withholding treatment from Brown Leaf, but she's the more seriously hurt so it's best if Risi takes primary care of her, and Wic'll assist where needed. Don't really need this resolved 'on screen' but this was what Wic'd do and wanted to get it in before we close the 'episode' out.

[Eurus]

As the fight concludes spectacularly, Ivory Knife finally walks down from the stands, moving without haste. Any worry she'd had about her own fight being embarrassing has more or less faded, at this point, and she seems to be wavering between amusement and worry -- her attention, notably, remains split between the fighters and the people around them, as though she's not entirely sure who this whole ordeal was more taxing for.

When she finally arrives, she does her best not to interfere with the medical efforts going on, but she does offer a flask from some inner pocket to Brown Leaf and Mourning Blade.

"You look like you could use some tea. I have spirits, too, but I think the doctor might not approve of that just yet."

She smiles sidelong at Wirric as she says it.

[Confrog]

"Excuse me," says Risi, brushing past Wirric to get to Brown Leaf, pulling out a small bottle and pouring clear liquid onto the stumps of her severed finger. It burns horribly, with little plumes of steam flashing off of the wounds.

After a few moments of searching, Risi makes his way to where he spotted Brown Leaf's severed fingers, returning with them and pulling out an orichalcum needle with gossamer thread trailing from it from his pouch.

"This will be painful and unpleasant, but it will be quick," he says to Brown Leaf, pulling out a small strip of thick leather and putting it in her mouth. He puts the needle to his forehead, and his Zenith mark flares brightly, outlining his body in a halo of white fire as he kneels next to Brown Leaf and begins attempting to reattach her fingers.

Spoiler: OOC + Rolls

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Spending 20 motes of peripheral essence and 2 wp to use Wound Cleansing Meditation, then Instant Treatment Methodology onto Wound-Mending Care Technique, and finally 3 dice from Medical Excellency.
Intelligence + Medicine (double 9s) (11d10)[3][4][8][6][6][7][7][9][9][6][8](73) + 1 automatic success from Resplendent Satchel

[pfm1995]

"And yet, neither lost."

Trusting the two of them to those more skilled in medicine, Tuoni bends to pick up the sword before walking over and watching Risi work with great interest.

[Sticks]

At first Brown Leaf was inclined to refuse the proffered beverages, but once Risi got to work, she had to stifle a cry as he got to sewing, and she mutely gestures for the alcohol with her left hand. She began to raise it to her lips, paused, and then offered it to the Dusk seated opposite her. She gave what she hoped was an encouraging smile, but was probably best described as a pain-wracked rictus.

[Ascension]

Through his mundane techniques, there's little Wic can do other than stanch the swordswoman's bleeding and sew her wounds shut, but his hands are sure enough for that, and she accepts his assistance with stoic grace.

Risi's more miraculous techniques prove an equal match to Brown Leaf's more severe injuries. Even he will need to spend some time on her treatment, but it doesn't take long for him to recognize that it's going to be successful. She is on the way to a full recovery.

When the monk offers the Abyssal a drink from Ivory Knife's flask, she waves it off.

"I think you have more need of that than I do," she says, glancing down at Leaf's until-recently severed fingers.

She reaches into a pouch at her belt and pulls out a bloodstained handkerchief, with which she begins to clean her face.

"...thank you, though," she says at last, the words unfamiliar on her tongue.

Jai is keeping his distance from the fighters even now that the tension has been released, his simple optimism shaken by the horrific spectacle of Mourning Blade's dread power and Brown Leaf's ferocious determination.

Harnapuul has seemingly decided to return to the simple comforts of solipsism, resolutely ignoring the entire scene unfolding beneath him.

- - -

Above it all, Lupo and the gods hold quiet council among themselves.

"Now I trust everyone is satisfied?" the Sidereal sifu asks, turning to his audience.

"You play with fire," Five Days Darkness hums.

"That worked out to the better," The Golden Lord concedes, "but it could have gone so badly wrong. Recklessness is not wise judgment."

"It could possibly have gone poorly," Lupo admits, "but that possibility was never likely. I choose my students with care."

"I only hope the rest of them have Brown Leaf's determination," Kokage cheerfully rumbles.

"I only hope there are no more surprises," The Golden Lord cuts back in, still not quite convinced.

"Please, do not pass judgment too quickly," Lupo requests, and that hits close enough to The Golden Lord's heart to silence his immediate complaints, at least.

Spoiler: OOC

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Please see OOC thread for further comments.

[Sticks]

Brown Leaf took a grateful quaff from Ivory Knife’s flask before handing it back. As she did so, she saw Tuoni holding the Mourning Blade.

“Hey Tuoni, could’ja do me a solid an’ give that back to misse o’er there?” She looked at the Abyssal and gave a wry smile, “I reckon there’s More craziness ahead, best if’n you got what ya need to defend yer’self if ya need to. I’m still gonna ask ya to give it up once this shindig’s over, I’ll even make ya a new weapon myself if we get the chance, but it’s best if’n you hold onta it fer now.”

[pfm1995]

Hesitating a moment, glancing back and forth between the vile blade and the kneeling Abyssal, Tuoni gives an exasperated grunt."This sword is an abomination, and I intend to see it destroyed if I can. Until then, though..." He offers it to her hilt first.

[Ascension]

Mourning Blade's eyes go bright with tears again, and she extends shaking hands to take the blade by its scabbard.

"I will... endeavor to keep it sheathed," she promises.

~ ~ ~

Lupo lets Brown Leaf and Mourning Blade take their time getting back to the stands, seeming to understand the importance of letting the emotion of the moment play itself out.

When all seems settled, he steps into the sunlight again to announce the next match.

"King Harnapuul," he calls out, drawing the monarch's attention back from whatever internal ruminations previously held his attention, "You will face Wirric Stanton."

The Lotus Blossoms!
Episode 3: Secrets Revealed? Harnapuul vs. Wic!

The vain king's eyes flick over toward Wic, but his face is unreadable behind its mask of makeup. With a gesture, he commands his dream-eaten servants to lift his palanquin, and they bear him down to the arena floor. When they have carried him to the amphitheatre's very center, he commands them to stop.

He turns to face the assembled gods and, in a remarkable display of humility, bows. Then he turns to where his fellow fighters have gathered in the stands and, amazingly, bows once again.

"Please attend closely," he requests of both audiences as he straightens back to his full height, speaking in formal, grandiloquent High Realm.

He then unbinds his hair and languorously rolls his head atop his neck, allowing it all to tumble free, a smooth black wave falling to the small of his back. Next, with a ripple of his shoulders, he shrugs off his heavy brocade outer robe, revealing far softer layers of fine silk and sheer gauze, dyed in shades of periwinkle and lavender.

His body bends into the first steps of a sensuous dance, demonstrating the elegant fluttering motion of the loose sashes and long sleeves trailing from his dress. After captivating his audience from atop his palanquin, he begins his descent toward the ground, balancing on one tabi-clad foot atop the shaven head of one of his servants before stepping out onto the man's shoulder, his elbow, his hand, using him as a living staircase. Finally, his last step dangles perilously above the bare earth for a moment before another servant drops his corner of the palanquin to dive to his knees and place an elevated paduka sandal beneath the king's extended foot. With one more dancing step to join his other foot with another proffered sandal, Harnapuul stands upon the earth for the first time since any of you have seen him.

He wheels into a posture which might be a ready pose, but which bears as little resemblance to the more utilitarian katas of Tiger and Crane as a princess would to a sow in a dress.

You might already be in love with him.

Spoiler: OOC and Rolls

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Appearance + Performance (Dance) roll with Harmonious Presence Meditation and Thousand Courtesan Ways active to Instill a Minor Intimacy of Infatuation in... everyone.
His Appearance is 6, granting him bonus dice equal to however much that's higher than your base Resolve (before any bonuses are factored in).
You can, however, automatically shut this down via Red Rule if you're not okay with it.
Also, Ivory Knife's already got one, so this doesn't do anything more to her.

Spoiler: Roll

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(15d10)[2][2][2][8][1][4][6][7][1][3][1][1][10][5][9](62)

Additional dice from Appearance (count from left to right): (6d10)[3][5][4][7][5][7](31)

[Eurus]

And the third round begins...

Ivory Knife, being an innocent young lady with no guile to speak of, is utterly unable to conceal her bashful interest in the beautiful king. She does her best not to stare, but can't quite quite tear her eyes away, either. Her gaze fleetingly wanders over the rest of the arena, brushing lightly over the imposing divine figures at the arena's other end, but it always returns to Harnapuul.

"...He certainly is different."

Spoiler: OOC

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Getting her seven motes for the new scene...

While making a pretense (well, mostly a pretense) of watching Harnapuul, Ivory Knife is going to discreetly pay attention to Kokage. Specifically, while reading his motivations, she's trying to figure out what kind of feelings/intimacies he has about Lupo and the other gods around him; hopefully that's valid, since they've been interacting over these past scenes. If he counts as "unaware he's being observed", he'll take -2 to his guile.

Perception(5)+Socialize(5)+Specialty(1)+Stunt(2)
(13d10)[9][7][10][7][10][2][3][7][8][7][7][7][7](91)