Inside 73: Holiday Rush

[Rebonack]

[Spirit Bomb]

Selekhael may be pleasantly surprised, here.

See, right now she's not engaged in an arena. Arenas are fiercely competitive and often full of putti. At the moment she's engaged with EXPLORE and as a result the sorts of empyreans who are likewise enjoying the open world are the sort that have transcended existence as a putti and have forged their own Path.

They are, by and large, more helpful and community oriented.

The chatter was sort of tuned out before, but now that Selekhael is actually trying to pay attention to it? It has become more obvious.

Khatabel> Hey can I get some help with Grobnar the Fetid? He just popped up again North of Riverside.
Ganabel> I'm on the last leg of a trove hunt give me five minutes.
Keleiel> Oh cool I need Grobnar's trinket, on my way.
Selekhael> Are there any crucibles near here?
Ganabel> Where are you at, Selekhael? Ping your map I'll mark it if I've found any nearby.

As she draws nearer to the epicenter of the blast she begins finding ample supplies of ashes and little blobs of cooled glass, the obvious sign of the devastation wrought by the demon's manifestation. It feels like they could be used to fashion whatever it is that she needs to disperse the demon. Speaking of, there's the demon right over there. Selekhael can tell that there is definitely something there but it is utterly incomprehensible to her and she perceives it as little more than an unsettling smudge. It's like that feeling you get standing at the edge of a cliff in the pit of your stomach, only in visual form.

Also?

She has a pretty good view of a bunch of ghosts converging toward... someone. Probably. If she squints she should be able to make out Benedict in the distance, swarms of ghosts trying to herd him toward the demon. This is, of course, bad. While she won't know HOW she knows this, Selekhael will find that she has an intuitive understanding that if the demon manages to possess a human body it will become dramatically more dangerous. Strong enough that she'll need to enlist quite a bit of help if she wants to try to destroy it.

Meanwhile!

Benedict is having a bad time.

But he thinks fast!

Really, what occultist worth his salt wouldn't have a bag of salt on his person?

The ghosts smack into the ring of salt as if they had smashed into a brick wall, hissing and jittering away from the barrier as though burned. But that doesn't stop them from throwing themselves against the ward with equal parts violence and mindlessness. With each hit a little bit of salt blackens and festers into bubbling black tar reminiscent of burned sugar. Apparently their corrupting touch is virulent to even slowly wear their way through tried and true ghost tricks like salt.

Then needles are fired toward the demon!

There's...

Not a sound.

Not really.

More like a soundless vibration that rumbles through the earth and rattles the occultist's teeth.

That's all the warning he gets before a lance of clumsily manifested spiritual agony is hurled at him, pain and hatred in its purest, rawest form. If Benedict were an unwarded human this assault would likely kill him on the spot by stopping his heart, but it has to blast through both the salt barrier and his own magical defenses.

Oh.

Yeah.

That also means a whole third of the salt barrier just got reduced to black muck and now here come the ghosts.

[Chaotic Bob]

[Land of Joy]

The little wish-granting entity fails to comment on the startled reactions to its presence, though it does cast a side-long glance at the Pointy Dog.
Doesn't even respond to Khannie's question about the sneaking up! How rude.

But this is largely due to its interest in the tree-witch seeming to be fairly consuming, on its attention.
Inversion would explain some of this, certainly. What you're calling looking "more real" would be a reasonable opposition to their typical state of being emotional manifestations. If we take this to its logical full conclusion, I think it presents a larger problem than you realize.
The typical goal of a witch involves the consolidation and consumption of others' energy. The Kiss is normally to bring in prey.

Victoria frowns and nervously fiddles with a little stage wand that she pulled out of a sleeve.
"So...it might be spreading witch energy instead? But what would that mean?"

The not-a-cat shrugs from its perch on her hat.
I can only speculate. Khannie poses a more immediately important question though, you really should figure out how to separate it from the people.

"Can you just punch it away from them, into the flaming buildings?"

[Rebonack]

[Land of Joy]

Gosh Kyuubee is such a butt.

Won't even give Khannie the satisfaction of being annoyed by her constant prodding.

So!

She considers what all this might mean.

If Fortuna DID invert the Witch she was thinking it would just be how it acts. Like instead of making people miserable it makes them happy. Just with a warped sense of happy. But if the white rat is right then it's more than that. Instead of an abstract emotional thing it's a concrete physical thing. Instead of luring people to itself eat them and drain their energy it is sending out its Witch Kiss victims to gather people and give them energy.

But...

Energy for what?

"Well, whatever it's doing let's go smash it before we find out what it is," Khannie says, standing up and pounding one fist into her palm. "Knocking around something that big is hard though. And I don't think I would be able to do one of my scarf portal things to just move it. Those only work on me and whatever I might be holding."

Like, say, a magical girl soul gem.

"I'm going to try to get its attention. Maybe we can lure it away from all those people?"

Then?

She hauls back and throws a punch, sending a rocket fist whizzing away from her toward the tree-monster's great big stupid grinning face. This projectile isn't meant to explode on impact, she's worried the blast might hit someone. Instead it should just smash into the side of the Witch's head with significant force.

[bc56]

Spirit Bomb
Selekhael doesn't know what Ganabel means by pinging her map, so she just focuses on where she is. To her surprise, the map appears. She pokes it easily and creates a pinging noise.

Selekhael> I'm right here, trying to banish a demon

She also sees someone fighting off a swarm of ghosts... That could be really bad. She charges across the blasted gravel towards them, her flaming blade in hand transforming into a long, thin lash of flame tipped with a wicked hook, the Fisher's signature weapon. She sweeps the thing at the ghosts, trying to pull some of them towards her, where the barrels of her shotgun await.

[Vahnavoi]

[Arkham Street]

Spoiler

Show

The putti seems to consider that offer thoughtfully.

Or at least the most human-like face seems to be thoughtful. It's pretty hard to read the facial expressions or a bird a cat or a cow.

"Okay, sure! I'm actually kind of curious now what'll happen. It might be nothing or maybe the match will just end without a winner but who knows! Maybe it'll be something exciting?" the putti reasons as it casually shoves its flaming sword into the ground and carves out a two-meter wide cube. "Give me a bit to gather materials so I can build higher. How sure-footed are you? The way I've won before is by making a ton of tiny little steps to hop between."

Being so close to the cube-shaped pit the putti just created reveals how utterly strange it is. Just a perfectly formed hole in the ground with absolutely flawless right angles. It reaches through the street, the dirt below, and sandy bluff below that. None of the soil falls off into hole as one might expect, maintaining that uncannily sheer surface.

Nearby, where a few houses have been dug into, there are just parts missing. Always in those big cubes. There are even a few pieces of the building that have been dug under that are now just sort of floating in mid-air in spite of the fact that shouldn't be possible. Clearly gravity has no time to deal with this nonsense.

Now that the initial few minutes have passed the putti that seem to have some idea what they're doing have gathered materials and more powerful weapons and are now building toward the apex in earnest. There's quite a bit of battling going on, too. Rather than one big tower most of them are erecting there own while others are building platforms between the various spires. All the while they're taking pot-shots at each other and erecting walls and barriers to provide themselves with cover.

While the swordsman's new team member is working the putti he had sworded in half earlier suddenly leaps down off a nearby roof holding a weapon that looks like it's composed of strange whorled patterns of feathers and coiled brain matter with several unfriendly looking talon-like protrusions from one end making it clear which side of the weapon you don't want pointed at you. "Eat whatever the fluff this thing shoots, floofer!"

And then it fires.

A shotgun blast of psychic disruptions that absolutely annihilate thought. Probably not a great idea to get hit by that, either.

Ascent Status: 42Meters /500

"Very", the swordsman answers to the query about his sure-footedness. At least compared to some puttis who can't even move their legs in the right rhythm, he's righy. He notes the odd regularity and rigidity of the chunks of earth, as well as the gravity-defying some of the buildings are. But, before he can strategize any more about it with his new ally, he has to duck and roll out off the way of the psychic blast. He has no more idea what it would do to him than the owner of the weird weapon, he's moving mostly out of instinct. He doesn't even sense anything come out of the "gun", or whatever it should be called, just that its dangerous. He briefly hides behind one of the cubes, not certain if it would even protect him from whatever it shoots, but he figures breaking line of sight is better than nothing.

"You know, it would be a better strategy to harry someone closer to the top than take revenge on me!", he calls out frantically. Predicting these creatures is weird - their outer form and abilities are completely inhuman, but their mentality and behaviour is akin to kids playing a game... badly. Mostly. He hasn't yet got to dealing with the better players.

[Rebonack]

[Arkham Street]

The swordsman has grasped a vital point, here.

These things are very much akin to children playing a game. Right down to the fact that so many of them seem to be incredibly angry in spite of this supposedly being fun. That, and they seem to fall into two broad categories. Those that know what they're doing and those that don't. The former are no doubt far more dangerous once he has to actually contend with them, however they act in a predictable fashion, for the most part. Once one understands the rules of their game it's easy enough to see all their actions contribute toward the victory condition.

The second group, however...

They're completely unpredictable.

They might be digging a hole straight down to see how far they can go before the match ends. Or just admiring the scenery. Or flopping around like a baby seal on land. Or murdering people for the fun of it.

Or, in this case, trying to blast the swordsman.

The projectiles apparently strike the cube the swordsman takes cover behind, judging from the missing sound the make upon smacking into it.

"I've probably already lost thanks to you!" the putti yells back as it fires another round impotently at the swordsman's cover. "So I'll just make myself feel better by fragging you!"

It's at about this point that a baseball sized, spiraling blue orb doop!s to the side of the putti's torso. "Eh?"

The swordsman's erstwhile ally waves at the hostile celestial with several of its little baby hands right before there comes a hollow VHUMP! and a powerful gravity distortion crushes the afflicted putti into a mangled ball that quickly burns away into a heap of ashes. And it leaves behind... something? Which is quickly picked up and now the helpful one has got the gun?

"Hey I've got enough material for now are you ready to go?" it asks.

[Vahnavoi]

[Arkham street]

"... yes", the swordsman says with a hollow voice, peering at the spot where the crushed putti was a second ago. The weapons these creatures wield apparently have effects comparable to chants of the Paths of Destruction. Not a very comforting thought.

He turns to look up to the sky, then towards his ally. He's ready to jump as soon as the putti starts placing the blocks. He doesn't bother advicing where to put those blocks - if the putti was honest about winning this game four times before, they likely have enough of a clue. Instead, he focuses on two things: cutting down any who might get on his path, and preveting them fron doing the same to him.

[Rebonack]

[Arkham Street]

"Okay! Over here. The first trick is to let the others start building and gather enough material to make it the rest of the way to the top," the putti says, gesturing to a nearby ramp of night-sky sponge at the top of a building that leads in turn to a wide, square platform of similar material. This pattern repeats, slowly spiraling upwards before it terminates a good thirty meters into the air. There are several walls and barriers built along it for cover. Judging from the holes and pock-marks blasted into the alien substance.

There doesn't appear to be anyone else on this particular tower at the moment, which is likely why the putti picked it as their point of ascent. Once they've made it up the first two turns to the third platform it takes its flaming sword and slashes it through the lower ramp, causing the two lower sets of platforms and ramps to simply vanish.

Judging from the irate yelling down below, it sounds like someone is upset that the putti is taking their tower apart.

Rather than doing anything rational, like collecting more materials to rebuild the lost construction, they decide to fire a rocket launcher at our heroes.

The rocket, in this case, being a spiky chunk of iron and nickle that will explode violently with both concussive force and shrapnel if it hits something solid. Thankfully the putti that fired it either is unaware that you should explosives at the ground where someone is standing rather than at them. Or maybe its aim is just poor. Either way the projectile is whizzing straight toward the swordsman.

Ascent Status: 91Meters /500

[Ironsmith]

Spoiler: A Prime Target

Show

A Prime Target

Prime rolls his Malice's eye, his gaze sweeping across the chapel and the assorted newcomers here to prevent the rebirth of his holy interdimensional empire. The weird robot could make for a convenient pawn for the next few minutes, but the rest are just...worms. Insects, barely fit to have their disgusting rebel bones melded to his monument of glory. They sure know a lot about him, though. We'll have to break that clone Magtok's legs, slowly, as thanks for that. We'll have plenty of extra bodies to work with too, once this little brawl is over, much more useful ones than the feeble churchgoers we started this little project with.

"I've died before, sweetie," Malice Prime scoffs. "I'm touched by your concern, but whether it's one would-be assassin or a thousand, their story ends the same way. They perish or they KNEEL," the hateful specter declares, his voice carrying a psychic compulsion to drop in religious awe of his radiant, divine splendor. It doesn't stop there, however. With a devilish cackle, he thrusts out his arms to either side, lighting the wooden pews on either side of him on fire. The burning pews roll like tumbleweeds towards our would-be heroes, which really won't go well if Geneva's promise to shield them from psychic assaults wasn't as dependable as it sounded. A massive wooden pew is not something you want to smash into your skull while kneeling on the church floor.

[Prime Target]

Syncope's form ripples in the wake of the psychic command, a mild effect from the many little portions of her atypical psyche reacting and then carrying on.
This makes her frown a bit and she starts to make a comment belittling the effort as a faint shade of something actually useful, but then a burning pew flies through her and she sprays in all directions in a shower of glittering silver specks.

I'll let the splash zone settle for a couple minutes, then we'll revisit where your hubris has left you for the evening.

She already wasn't ever going to be a combatant here, so now she'll just step back and wait for a bit.

[Prime Target]

Several problems present themselves at once.

First, the barrier of some kind forming over the statue. That needs to be addressed if they want to take down Prime quickly. Second, the command. Third, the blazing projectiles. Geneva is well outside the chapel so avoiding the last problem personally isn't difficult. The second is more of a concern.

A compulsion to kneel and grovel.

Psychic attacks come in several forms.

Geneva tends to prefer sensory overload herself. It tends to cause little in the way of lasting harm, but it can completely incapacitate a target. Then there are the compulsions, hijacking instincts and impulses. They can be dangerous not because they usurp someone's will, but because they overwhelm it. A person always has the option to over-ride an impulse that their brain feeds to them, but sometimes that impulse is too powerful to ignore. This is exactly that sort of attack. Raw, unsubtle, overwhelming impulse imposition.

With her mind already clear, with her will in full control, impulses have little room to operate.

The brain says do.

Geneva refuses.

She echos that clarity of mind to those nearby, providing an additional bulwark against the alien impulses assaulting them.

And she steps around the wall of the chapel to place herself temporarily out of line of sight while the capacitor banks in her railgun continue to charge.

A Prime Target

The individual in power armour doesn't kneel, Geneva's efforts at defending her from the command aided by her biosynthetic brain and the cybernetic implant lodged deep within. It was designed so somebody could command her and she would have no choice, however it has been hacked and corrupted to serve the opposite function. She moves to interpose herself between the flaming pews and her companions, smashing them aside with servo-assisted limbs and the butt of her gun.

The human with the meteor hammer does find her legs twitching, though Geneva's defence and her mentor's ghost prevent it from being too obvious. Alone, her voluntary possession would not have protected her. She can't do anything about the pews, however, so ducks behind the power-armoured frame of her synthetic compatriot, using the meteor hammer to thwack any pieces away that get too close.

The warlock hunches over his book, barely seeming to be listening; he moves behind the synth, but doesn't duck as splintered burning wood flies through the air around him. His shadow shifts and moves, its spider appearance scuttling towards Malice before splintering into a swarm of shadow-spiders that attempt to crawl over Malice. The spiders can't do much, as they aren't really here, all they can do is try to find a joint or an orifice they can crawl inside, though they haven't been fully pulled into this reality yet- they've got no mass, no shape, and they can exert no force. That will change when the spiders casting those shadows stop hiding in their extradimensional space, however.

[A Prime Target]

The gynoid, understandably, does not kneel. There are a couple of reasons for this.

First, the command just... doesn't properly click. She'll "hear" the psychic command folded into the word, but it's like trying do decipher a sentence spoken by someone with a thick accent from the other side of an electric fan. The command just isn't.

Second, she physically can't. Her legs don't work right. Maybe she could manipulate them if she really tried, but that's a whole mess of complicated, power-and-computational-resource-chewing mess of calculations for what would, at best, be an aesthetic choice.

Yeah, no.

Fortunately, she doesn't need to be told.

Oh, goodness... you're a student of Applied Acoustic Levitation, too? Wow! And the other Gals used to tell me that was a waste of time... shows what they know, huh? [^_^]

Wait... did you manage to set that on fire?! O_O

Eeee! [^o^]

Nobody's ever done that! When we're done here, we have got to compare notes!

All of this before the flaming pew gets smashed, of course.

...Oh. I guess they had a point, ha... >_<,

Even so, though... holy hell, you're a scary guy. I could certainly have used someone like you next to me an hour ago.

...Still could, honestly. Maybe it's... maybe it's more than luck that I'm here now and get to see you in action.

You know what? We'll talk about it after the meatbags have left. [⋋.⋌]

Fairy Godfather's Penthouse

Boada grins and takes the handkerchief, wiping her face and blowing her nose. The hanky is then put into a pocket, as she doubts Yuvan wants it back immediately. Needs a wash first, at least.

The receptionists smile a little at Yuvan when he returns, and will hand him a room key and direct him to a ground-floor room at the back of the hotel. Boada, who is still in her larger size, causes a bit of confusion when she's given her own room key, as her room is a much smaller pixie-scale room. Boada smiles, nods and accepts the key, asking if there's room service included and if so, could she have a jar of honey sent ASAP, to which she is told of course.

[Godfather's Penthouse]

Yuvan doesn't ask for any room service for himself. As per his agreement with the Godfather, he's not going to add any superfluous expenses to his stay here. Besides, he's carrying around a small fortress's larder in his inventory; there's nothing the attendants could bring him that he couldn't make for himself.

That being said, he'll be shown to his room, and try to keep his mind occupied in the meantime. If the attendant says anything to him on the way, it will likely be acknowledged, but not really stick. He's not entirely in the moment.

[Vahnavoi]

[Arkham Street]

For third time in short order, the swordsman demonstrates uncanny ability to know when he's about to be shot at and quickens his pace just as the rocket is fired. As a result, the rocket flies past behind him, missing him by width of one platform block. The swordsman stops and glances down. The shooter may have more rockets, so maybe he should do something before they reload and shoot again.

"Path of Destruction: Crimson Flame Cannon!", he intones, raising his left hand above his head. Then he swings it down, throwing a ball of flame down at the rocketeer. If it hits anything, it will explode like a firebomb.

Of course, if the rocket obeys ballistics to any extent, it will eventually hit something. Hopefully that something will be a safe distance away from the swordsman.

[5a Violista]

[Mysterious Crimson DracoProtector Obsidian]

Obsidian feels like both her and this other girl are on equal footing now, since they both have spirit minions. Well, Obsidian has a spirit dark maid and the other girl has a spirit cat but those two seem pretty similar in the end.

She's pretty sure this other girl is way overthinking Obsidian's question. It was just a basic yes/no question that didn't really matter, so she doesn't get why Catherine is acting so dumb and nervous and horrified about such a simple matter. Is she scared of undead or something? But, no, she has that cat so that can't be it. Did an elf undead eat her mom? Obsidian might be a little scared if someone was turning a dead body into a dragonslayer, so she feels a little sympathetic towards the girl.

"Yeah! Let's beat it up!" she says. "If the ghost-witch didn't want to get beaten up, then it should have known better than to intrude on The Beautiful and Terrible Obsidian's domain."
Obsidian is content not exchanging names. She's pretty sure lots of humans like telling people their names all the time so if Catherine doesn't want to share hers, she assumes there's probably a reason for that.

edit: Obsidian, after commanding her Dark DracoMaid to follow her, goes towards the obvious rift in space.


[Spirit Bomb]

Seraphina reaches the outside part with the emergency services, and starts telling them about what happened in there: how the mechanics behind the ghosts seem to work and how to get away from them, the few people she ran into and what they were doing (in case one of them needs help), the likelihood of survivors farther in, asking if anyone has seen a guy named Bruno or his dog walk out (unlikely), and, most importantly, the thing in the center and how dangerous it is and what its goal seems to be.
Definitely nobody should go to the center without being prepared.

Unfortunately,
After questioning her,
some of the emergency personnel realize she was out in there when the bomb went off,
and notice small scratches and other things on her hands
and notice the wrappings covering the mostly-healed-bullet-wound
and and notice the beginning symptoms of dehydration
not to mention, there's the possibility that,.if what she said was true, she might be bringing some of the ghosts and/or whatever memetic awfulness at the center out into the rest of the city

So Seraphina gets detained and prevented from leaving.

[Morty]

[A Prime Target]

Calm Reed is normally resolute and unbreakable. Prime's sheer psychic might could have nonetheless caused her resolve to waver, if not for Geneva's aid. When the flaming pews come flying at them, the monk steps forward beside the woman in power armor. She grabs the pew that flies towards her and flings it back at Prime with a mighty heave. She doesn't expect it to do much - she's testing his defences.

[Rebonack]

[Arkham Street - Red Hook Pier]

The rocket goes sailing off into the sky, given how high it was aimed, arcing off into the far distance and crashing into the wooded hills of Black Goat Park beyond the inhabited portion of Arkham Street. No doubt this will not be a problem in any way shape or form and won't have any negative effects in the future.

As for the putti?

Unlike the swordsman it has no ability to predict when it is being shot at and was busy looking down to reload its launch to allow it to fire again. Which, of course, means it doesn't notice the fireball streaking toward it.

It is a thankful thing that the putti don't appear to be supernaturally resilient. Perhaps comparable to a well warded or armored professional solider. Able to take some solid hits, surely, but a direct impact from a fireball isn't the sort of thing they're especially likely to survive.

At about this point the swordsman's apparent partner reaches the top of the tower, pauses for a moment, and then makes a wide tossing motion with several of its weird too-many jointed baby arms.

Nothing is actually thrown. Instead, a series of tiny square platforms flash into existence one after another, each about one quarter meter square and a scant centimeter thick. And there are MANY of them. Enough to fill the volume of a two meter cube, as it happens. Each is roughly two meters apart and reaches all the way from the top of their tower to the highest tower currently built.

"Come on we've got to hurry there's no cover!" the putti says before nimbly hopping from one platform to the next with a deftness that is downright shocking considering that the creature looks like an ambulatory end-table.

True to the creature's word, projectiles will soon be zipping through the air around them along with several putti yelling that whatever artifice the teammate just made is cheating.

"They aren't laws if you can break 'em, scrubs! Only suggestions!" the helpful (and apparently somewhat mouthy) putti yells back.

It's at about this point that the tower nearest to the Black Goat Park is splashed with an absolutely prodigious volume of wine which, for some inexplicable reason, causes it to revert back to stone and dirt. This, in turn, causes gravity to suddenly notice all this stuff cheekily floating in mid and and immediately demands that it begin accelerating toward the ground. The rocks, which are now a bit drunk it should be noted, follow this decree after a few seconds of awkward swaying and begin to plummet, taking all the putti that were on the tower with it.

Huh.

That's weird.

Wonder what that's about?

Ascent Status: 137Meters /500

[Arkham Street - Black Goat Woods]

The wildfae are throwing a party.

And by wildfae we're talking about wilderness sprites, mostly.

Satyrs and fauns. Dryads and naiads and oreads. And at least two different pixie swarms. The pixies in question are presently engaged in a vitally important argument over whether sake is really wine or beer and will enlist anyone unfortunate enough to try talking to them into the argument. There are a few non-sprites here as well. A pooka or two. A pair of baobhan sith trying to entice a few satyrs to dance with them, which the normally amorous fae are refusing in an uncharacteristic flash of wisdom. And one kumiho sitting atop a boulder etched with glyphs that glow a soft mossy green, her nine tails waving with the beat of the drums.

The music thrums, the fire crackles, hooves pound the earth, and freshly stomped out wine flows freely.

A festive mood permeates the grove, but if one felt inclined to ask about the occasion the details would be fuzzy at best. What's this celebration about? Pie day, maybe? The faeries really aren't clear but who cares.

When a iron and nickle projectile lands at the edge of the grave and explodes, mulching a shy dryad in the process, the mood sours a bit.

This is obviously the work of devils and several of the inebriated satyrs (along with one really hammered faun) decide that they had better go teach those terrible imps a lesson! Grabbing a few casks of wine the not particularly well thought out raid departs the party to go cause some ruckus. After that brief interruption, however, things are quickly back in full swing!


[Mysterious Crimson DracoProtector Obsidian]

The Beautiful and Terrible Obsidian?

Is...

Is that her full name? There's no way she's expecting her to call her that whole thing every time, right?

"...I'm Catherine. O-or if you want to use my cool Magical Girl Name, that's okay too! That's Nekohammer," she says, doing her best to put on an air of bravery to make it less obvious how much Obsidian is creeping her out.

Catherine is starting to suspect that maybe Obsidian isn't a Magical Girl. Or maybe a different sort of Magical Girl. Inside is a big place, right? She's heard of other types of Magical Girls based on planets or zodiac signs or things like that. Maybe Obsidian is one of those?

"A-any way, yeah let's go. Just keep in mind the Labyrinth is really weird."

Obsidian steps into the Labyrinth with Catherine close behind.

It's really weird.

Soot stretches as far as the eye can see,
like a black tapestry of grimy ash.

Silver threads traverse the gloom,
spun strands glitter in the starless sky.

Pictures frames jut from the ground,
wooden monoliths bearing smudged out faces.

To step here uninvited is to call down doom,
destruction awaits for those that trespass.

Countless legs carry countless servants,
the familiars come crawling.

There is only avarice and hatred here,
wickedness decrees only jealousy.

There can be only one object of love,
only one can be cherished.

All others must be cut down,
the servants will force all others into the ash.

[Deathkeeper]

Arkham Street - Black Goat Woods

Arkham street is a really good place to get witchcraft supplies if you don’t mind some stares. Rowan is just trying to get his journeyman witch career going in the outskirts of the city. Potions, wards, elementary stuff really.
Unfortunately, while it might be Winter Rowan still bears his mother’s mantle of Summer. So when a big fae party starts up right near him he just kind of…ends up there. He’s not fey but the mantle certainly blurs the line a little.
What also blurs the line? Normally in a place full of faeries like this he would start to resemble Peach with her elk aspect. But the witch he studied under out a hex on him to instead copy what his fey hosts find convenient or like about themselves. Given that this party has no particular host, this will likely extend to whatever brand of faerie at the party is most populous and what about themselves they agree is good.
To add insult to injury, the hex extends to his outfit.
So the faeries will probably be aware both that a mortal carrying Peach’s mantle just arrived, and also that mortal suddenly glamoured himself.

[Shadowcaller]

Midnight Park

Artie is definitely surprised by the positive response to her joke.
"Well I mean it's definitely a doable solution. But you have top think long-term, ok? As in, being faithful to your significant other, not faithful to him specifically. Don't want you to get locked into never dating anyone ever again because you broke up or outlived him. And I'm not saying you will, but you know. Stuff happens." In some sense Jaahlyn will definitely outlive him, but it's entirely possible that he'll outlive the body she's currently in at least.

[Arkham Street - Black Goat Woods]

The wildfae are throwing a party.

And by wildfae we're talking about wilderness sprites, mostly.

Satyrs and fauns. Dryads and naiads and oreads. And at least two different pixie swarms. The pixies in question are presently engaged in a vitally important argument over whether sake is really wine or beer and will enlist anyone unfortunate enough to try talking to them into the argument. There are a few non-sprites here as well. A pooka or two. A pair of baobhan sith trying to entice a few satyrs to dance with them, which the normally amorous fae are refusing in an uncharacteristic flash of wisdom. And one kumiho sitting atop a boulder etched with glyphs that glow a soft mossy green, her nine tails waving with the beat of the drums.

The music thrums, the fire crackles, hooves pound the earth, and freshly stomped out wine flows freely.

A festive mood permeates the grove, but if one felt inclined to ask about the occasion the details would be fuzzy at best. What's this celebration about? Pie day, maybe? The faeries really aren't clear but who cares.

When a iron and nickle projectile lands at the edge of the grave and explodes, mulching a shy dryad in the process, the mood sours a bit.

This is obviously the work of devils and several of the inebriated satyrs (along with one really hammered faun) decide that they had better go teach those terrible imps a lesson! Grabbing a few casks of wine the not particularly well thought out raid departs the party to go cause some ruckus. After that brief interruption, however, things are quickly back in full swing!

Midnight Park

Jaahlyn drums her fingers against the counter. What Artie said was all true but she couldn't just bind herself could she? She would need one of those bureaucrats to initiate a binding and she didn't think she'd find any of them favorable to her after her last binding broke.

She looks to Artie.

Oh. Right.

"...so could you initiate a binding to make sure I'm faithful then?" She inquires. "Basically, I make a promise to you and you hold it up into Law."

[Arkham Street - Black Goat Woods]

Were these woods named after her? Jaahlyn couldn't help but to wonder if there was a being similar to herself which this place had been named after as she was the blackest goat that she knew.
It was after all the nickname that she had among the other satyrs back home. Well, technically it was something any psychopomp satyr were called but there weren't many of those besides she and her brother.

But as much as she had disliked that nickname and how often she liked to name her many other grievances with other satyrs there were times when she thoroughly enjoyed their company and celebrating herself getting free from the bindings were one of them.

So without much hesitation she saunters into their group and looks to see if she could get something to drink out of a keg or perhaps steal some from a hammered fey. Fey food and drink wasn't as much of a concern when you were fey yourself.

[Ironsmith]

[Arkham Street - Black Goat Woods]

The wildfae are throwing a party.

And by wildfae we're talking about wilderness sprites, mostly.

Satyrs and fauns. Dryads and naiads and oreads. And at least two different pixie swarms. The pixies in question are presently engaged in a vitally important argument over whether sake is really wine or beer and will enlist anyone unfortunate enough to try talking to them into the argument. There are a few non-sprites here as well. A pooka or two. A pair of baobhan sith trying to entice a few satyrs to dance with them, which the normally amorous fae are refusing in an uncharacteristic flash of wisdom. And one kumiho sitting atop a boulder etched with glyphs that glow a soft mossy green, her nine tails waving with the beat of the drums.

The music thrums, the fire crackles, hooves pound the earth, and freshly stomped out wine flows freely.

A festive mood permeates the grove, but if one felt inclined to ask about the occasion the details would be fuzzy at best. What's this celebration about? Pie day, maybe? The faeries really aren't clear but who cares.

When a iron and nickle projectile lands at the edge of the grave and explodes, mulching a shy dryad in the process, the mood sours a bit.

This is obviously the work of devils and several of the inebriated satyrs (along with one really hammered faun) decide that they had better go teach those terrible imps a lesson! Grabbing a few casks of wine the not particularly well thought out raid departs the party to go cause some ruckus. After that brief interruption, however, things are quickly back in full swing!

[Arkham Street - Black Goat Woods]

"It's actually quite simple." One of Braeg's attendants explains to the group of gathered pixies. "Beer is made from grains, and wine is made from fruit. Rice is a grain, and therefore sake is a beer."

"If you look at the uses, sake really has much more in common with wine than beer." Braeg's other attendant explains. "It's a fine beverage, associated with a multitude of special occasions and ceremonies, in a way that beer just isn't. Calling it beer does it a disservice."

"What you call it doesn't change what it is-"

"Around here it doe-"

"You've got it all back-to-front-"

Braeg smirks to himself and quietly rolls his eyes. He'd long ago resolved this apparent dilemma, and was now nursing a cup of sake himself, watching the argument unfold with some amount of amusement.

...Eh, it's getting old now.

Braeg downs the rest of the drink and tosses the cup over his shoulder, causing it to vanish before it hits the ground. He wanders around the party, stopping every now and then to join in the dancing or have an impromptu drinking contest with one of the other partygoers (he cheats, obviously). But it's all done with a sense of purpose; to find someone with whom to spend the night. Not necessarily in a sexual or even romantic sense; just some close contact with someone he might regard as a kindred spirit.

There should be no shortage of those here!

[Rebonack]

[Spirit Bomb]

Being detained in an unmarked van is never much fun. But at least they gave her a water bottle and granola bar so that's something?

Seraphina will have to wait for about fifteen minutes or so, but eventually the door opens and two people step in, both dressed in well cut black suits. They've even got those black sunglasses. Or, well, the man has sunglasses. The other has some pretty thick prescription glasses that give her a distinctly owlish look. Regardless, real Men in Black vibe going on here.

Except only one of them is a man.

The other is a woman.

...with big bat ears?

Most notably, neither of them is carrying a firearm in a holster. The bat-eared woman has a little cordless electric vacuum and the man has a small whisk broom. But the way they're stowed away certainly makes it seem like they're weapons in spite of the fact that they are clearly cleaning tools.

Also kind of weird.

"Hello," the woman looks down at the clip board she's holding, "Seraphina. I'm Watcher Ballentine and this is, ah, Watcher Sanchez."

The man nods silently. It is kind of intimidating and ominous.

"It is our understanding that you were exposed to the entity at the, ah, center of this disaster. We're going to run a few tests to ensure that you aren't contaminated by it. They are, ah, purely non-invasive," Watcher Ballentine continues. Then she nods to Watcher Sanchez, who offers a notepad and pen to Seraphina. The cover of the notepad is a matte black with a white symbol on it, a three pointed crown under an arc with five rays extending from it. It looks kind of like a stylized sunrise? "Could you please write for us a description of how being in the presence of the entity made you feel?"

That's easy enough, right?


[Arkham Street - Black Goat Woods]

Well, Rowen finds plenty of sprites here.

So that's something?

A few not-sprites, too. Given that a decent sized herd of satyrs just departed to harass the nearby putti that means the fauns are the most numerous fae at the party right now. Fauns being, of course, beautiful nymphs from the waste up and goats from the waste down. The remaining satyrs really don't mind this disproportionality at all, satyrs being rugged and handsome men from the waste up and horses from the waste down. Just not centaurs. Back legs only. The beast-sprites all have a look of a particular animal about them. It's a vague thing, really. Like it's clear that satyr over there has a wolfish countenance to him even though he hasn't got any physical wolf parts.

So what's Rowen going to do? Stand around awkwardly? That wouldn't be any fun at all. One of the baobhan sith is watching him curiously, a predatory look in her eyes. There's that faun over there with a distinctly raccoon-y look about her wearing a bright pink (and a bit grungy) princess dress that she obviously fished out of a dumpster. And that... talking wild pig? Apparently one of the fauns decided to bring her animal to the party. An oread is reclining on a large, flat table-like stone that has absolutely been used as an occult alter more than once, considering the deep set stains in it. Her stony hair glitters with flecks of quartz and feldspar. A particularly muscular satyr is busy flexing to a group of sprites who seem divided on whether or not it is sexy or ridiculous.

Meanwhile!

The park was not, in fact, named after Jaahlyn.

It was named after Shub-Neggroth, the Black Goat With One Thousand Young.

Can you imagine having to endure having her show you all the pictures of her 'adorable' children?

It would be a maddening experience, no doubt.

Regardless! She'll find what she's looking for pretty easily. A large wooden vat has been set up atop a massive stump, clusters of grapes tossed into it every now and again while three faun/satyr pairs are busy dancing within, their hooves stomping out the grape juice. Probably not the most sanitary way to make new wine but hey it's traditional! A bronze tap is set into the side of the vat and simple clay steins are being passed around by the gaggle of fae hanging out near the booze. A dryad (who looks only slightly inebriated at the moment) waves Jaahlyn over.

"A friend from beyond the Enchanted Forest! Hey hey, come join us!"

Sounds like faeries from all cosmologies are welcome here.

Meanwhile!

"See! SEE!? That dumb fatty agrees with me!" yells a cloud of pixies with dragonfly wings and pink water lilies for dresses, pointing at the first servant.
"Oh YEAH!? Well that giant buffoon says I'M right!" shrieks the other swarm with dusty drab moth wings and a delicate white snowbell for a hat.
"You're not right you're UGLY and STUPID!"
"Not as ugly and stupid as your GIANT BUTT!"

Ah, pixies.

Masters of debate as always.

Wonder who Braeg is going to end up chatting with?

That weird nine-tailed cross-fox sitting atop the rock over there is watching him meander around the party. Might not be a great idea to talk with her, though. Foxes are tricksy.

[Ironsmith]

[Arkham Street - Black Goat Woods]

"See! SEE!? That dumb fatty agrees with me!" yells a cloud of pixies with dragonfly wings and pink water lilies for dresses, pointing at the first servant.
"Oh YEAH!? Well that giant buffoon says I'M right!" shrieks the other swarm with dusty drab moth wings and a delicate white snowbell for a hat.
"You're not right you're UGLY and STUPID!"
"Not as ugly and stupid and your GIANT BUTT!"

Ah, pixies.

Masters of debate as always.

Wonder who Braeg is going to end up chatting with?

That weird nine-tailed cross-fox sitting atop the rock over there is watching him meander around the party. Might not be a great idea to talk with her, though. Foxes are tricksy.

[Arkham Street - Black Goat Woods]

Recent events have certainly opened Braeg to the possibility of spending time with foxy company. With all the time he's been spending at Inari's temple, it's almost a matter of courtesy. And if this nine-tailed trickster was half as witty as their collective reputation suggested, he'd be in for a stimulating evening even if she got the better of him.

Braeg passes by the vat of grapes to grab a pair of wine steins in preparation of his approach. He could make his own if he needed to, possibly even a superior vintage, pressed from fond memories and fermented with forlorn melancholy at the inexorable march of time, but that might be a bit much for a first impression. Better to stick with familiar elements for now.

"Ladies." Braeg gives a cordial nod as he passes between a female satyr (satyrette? Is that what they're called?) and a dryad he's never seen before. Never mind them. He has his sights set a little higher.

"Pardon me." The fiendling lord says, as he finally approaches the kumiho. "I find myself rather befuddled at an odd circumstance. I'm surrounded by a raucous party, with much singing, much dancing, much drinking, and in the company of fair folk of all stripes. And yet, at this same party, I see what may be the fairest, sitting silently apart from the rest; not singing, not dancing, and it seems nobody has even done you the courtesy of bringing a drink." He gives her a small smile and offers her one of the steins of wine. "A curious riddle, isn't it? One can't help but wonder as to the answer."

[Shadowcaller]

[Arkham Street - Black Goat Woods]

But was this entity actually a goat though? Sounded like false advertising frankly.

Jaahlyn waves back at the dryad. "Heeeyyy!" She greets the dryad with a grin as she walks over to the group "What's up? You got a pretty rad party here."

[Deathkeeper]

Midnight Park

Artie nods slowly.
"If that is what you want to do, I can do it. But well, I don't have to tell you that a binding is a big deal; you've lived with them a long time. Don't commit unless you're sure." she insists. It's an unbreakable promise, but it's also sort of altering who you are. But that's a solution if Jaahlyn isn't comfortable with who she is already.

Black Goat Woods

Speaking of being uncomfortable with yourself, there isn't a definitive fey creating the atmosphere here, but the fauns are more populous than any other group. Extra unfortunate for Rowan, none of them have a definitive aspect of themselves that they find good or convenient. They just really like being fauns, as is obvious from the constant parties. Which means that the tentacle-legs he got from the Bogwitch twist together back into proper legs, only they form into goatlike legs instead of human ones. He finally has hips again, only they're much wider than his old ones. His upper half shifts until by all accounts he also appears to be a beautiful young nymph with goatlike legs. Except he's still a mortal, still mentally himself, and thankfully the magic gave him a top. Though it's not as modest as he'd like given the March weather.
The faun in a dress will find the weird mortal faun with the Summer Mantle and a normal looking bag approaching her.
"Hey, is it okay if I only stay a little while? I got other places to be later tonight." Asks Rowan.
This is of course his CLEVER RUSE. It sounds reasonable but if the faun gives an affirmative he'll have been given permission to leave after only a few minutes and the hex will be satisfied, giving him his normal self back once he goes.

[Shadowcaller]

Midnight Park

Jaahlyn considers what Artie says in silence for a moment. "I should talk with Jim about it first." She finally agrees. "I mean, it isn't even particularly serious yet so I need to think it through more." She concludes with a nod. "But, uh, we should exchange phone numbers so I can reach you afterwards." While she still remembers this.

[Rebonack]

[Arkham Street - Black Goat Woods]

It looks like Braeg has decided to harass the fox.

And they're fauns, Braeg. The female beast-sprites are fauns. The one currently inhabiting her wild pig gives the enchanter a little snort of greeting and bobs her head as he passes.

Real target, though, is that fox.

That fox, truth be told, is thinking. Plotting, really. She has so many irons in the fire it can be hard to keep track of them all sometimes. She had promised herself not to get caught up in plotting tonight; this party was meant to be a distraction from such things. But in spite of that she ended up on the rock pondering dark thoughts. Really, it isn't too much of a shock. She has something of a reputation and many of the other fae find her a tad intimidating. Which she doesn't mind. Not as such. This makes it oh so difficult to socialize when the mood strikes her, however.

When the feindling arrived, well now, that caught her nose.

There's a hint of power to him she found herself unfamiliar with. And if there's anything she covets, it is new and esoteric sources of power. There's a temptation but- No. No, not a chance. She can't do that, she can't just snatch up whatever she likes, whatever strikes her fancy. To go down that dark path is the way of murder and madness. A fox must eat, yes. But she has promised herself a promise that she has yet to break-

-she will only eat those who deserve that fate.

Probably for the best that he's mingling with the party and ignoring her.

Oh.

Now he's coming her way with two helpings of wine.

Of course he is.

The kumiho's ears perk as Braeg speaks.

"Oddities, flattery, and riddles you say?" she replies, grasping the stein with the end of one of her tails, its form like smoke given intent. "The answer is plain; the folk here know what games kumiho play and none wish to fill the role of mouse. I wonder, then, are you unfamiliar with the rules? Or perhaps you believe yourself above them?"

She delicately sips at the wine which should be, quite frankly, impossible with a muzzle.

But the fox accomplishes it none the less.

This is a warning to the enchanter.

Be wary, for I bite.

Meanwhile!

Yes!

...maybe.

Depending on how flexible of a definition of 'goat' you're using, Jaahlyn.

"Isn't it? I heard the drums and came to check it out," the dryad slurs back slightly.

The drums continue to beat along to the stomp of hooves and the crackle of the flames.

"Not sure what we're partying about but it's a great party!" the one of the fauns, who has a distinctly owlish look to her adds. "I'm not sure who started it."

She looks around, as if the party instigator would somehow stand out to her if only she laid eyes on them. "Hey, you aren't a Dreamlander or..." she leans in, those great big round eyes widening a little more. "Or, like, maybe not the same one? Far out!"

That gets the attention of the other fae. They seem curious about where Jaahlyn came from.

Meanwhile!

It turns out that fate is being cruel tonight to Rowan.

Because instead of the faun responding in the affirmative like a helpful person she gives a little squeal of delight and tries to sorta smoosh Rowan's cheeks together with her hands in a display of very touchy affection.

"Oh. My. GAWD! You're a mortal but you just look SO CUTE! You're like a cute little FAUN oh my GAWSH!" the dress-clad raccoonish faun titters, releasing Rowan to run a little circle around him and look from several different angles. Now that he's close she definitely smells like a raccoon that has been getting into people's trash. "Is this magic? It's gotta be, like, magic, right? And-"

She gives a little gasp.

"The Queen! That's the Summer Queen's mantle! Did she, like, send you here? Is she coming? Oh my gawd is she coming do I look pretty enough?" the faun asks, desperately trying to smooth out her hideously wrinkled tacky pink dress.

The faun didn't give Rowan permission to leave.

Tragic.

[bc56]

Arkham Street - Red Hook Pier
"What the fluff are you doing?" The voice comes from what appears to be an ordinary half-elf girl about 9 years old, holding a complicated crystal weapon that looks like a sniper rifle. She's standing upside down on the bottom of the platform the two "cheaters" were on. "If you can get that Creep to the top, you can get yourself to the top. Even if you don't win the placement match, you'll still get the victory reward for this arena." Oh, she's talking to the putti. She couldn't care less about Star of Hope. "Seeya!" She immediately starts running and jumping along the underside of the series of platforms.

Arkham Street - Black Goat Park
On one side of the party, someone else comes in. In high heeled boots, leggings, a sweater, and a scarf comes a second foxy visitor. Jade looks much more human than the Kumiho over on the rock (which she gives a friendly wave), but she still has the foxy ears and the nine tails. She grabs a mug and fills it from a nearby keg.
On one hand, a party like this isn't her usual environment (at least not without a responsible friend), but satyr booze is worth coming for.

[Shadowcaller]

[Arkham Street - Black Goat Woods]

Jaahlyn laughs. "You need a reason to start a party now?"

She quickly catches on to the attention she's getting but it doesn't seem to dissuade her. Quite the opposite. "Far far out." She reiterates with a sweeping gesture. "That's the kind of dreamland I'm from. I've traveled far and wide, seen everything in-between until and fought and seduced everything in my path until I came here-" The satyr pauses dramatically. "-and I'm gonna make this the best party ever!" Her gaze wanders over the little crowd which gathered around her, trying to meet the gazes of as many of them as possible.

"So I'm taking requests, you want anything? I'll do it for you. Music, acting, clothes, food, a fight? I'm your satyr." She ends by making a series of elegant bows to her crowd.

[Ironsmith]

[Arkham Street - Black Goat Woods]

It looks like Braeg has decided to harass the fox.

And they're fauns, Braeg. The female beast-sprites are fauns. The one currently inhabiting her wild pig gives the enchanter a little snort of greeting and bobs her head as he passes.

Real target, though, is that fox.

That fox, truth be told, is thinking. Plotting, really. She has so many irons in the fire it can be hard to keep track of them all sometimes. She had promised herself not to get caught up in plotting tonight; this party was meant to be a distraction from such things. But in spite of that she ended up on the rock pondering dark thoughts. Really, it isn't too much of a shock. She has something of a reputation and many of the other fae find her a tad intimidating. Which she doesn't mind. Not as such. This makes it oh so difficult to socialize when the mood strikes her, however.

When the feindling arrived, well now, that caught her nose.

There's a hint of power to him she found herself unfamiliar with. And if there's anything she covets, it is new and esoteric sources of power. There's a temptation but- No. No, not a chance. She can't do that, she can't just snatch up whatever she likes, whatever strikes her fancy. To go down that dark path is the way of murder and madness. A fox must eat, yes. But she has promised herself a promise that she has yet to break-

-she will only eat those who deserve that fate.

Probably for the best that he's mingling with the party and ignoring her.

Oh.

Now he's coming her way with two helpings of wine.

Of course he is.

The kumiho's ears perk as Braeg speaks.

"Oddities, flattery, and riddles you say?" she replies, grasping the stein with the end of one of her tails, its form like smoke given intent. "The answer is plain; the folk here know what games kumiho play and none wish to fill the role of mouse. I wonder, then, are you unfamiliar with the rules? Or perhaps you believe yourself above them?"

She delicately sips at the wine which should be, quite frankly, impossible with a muzzle.

But the fox accomplishes it none the less.

This is a warning to the enchanter.

Be wary, for I bite.

[Arkham Street - Black Goat Woods]

Maybe the kumiho intended it as a warning, but what Braeg hears, loud and clear, is a challenge. One he is only too happy to meet.

"I should say not." Braeg grins, baring the tips of his needly teeth in the process; he's no stranger to biting, either. "Rather, I would say I am a hare who has eluded many hounds and a hound who has devoured many hares. Perhaps we do not play the same games, but a willing player is a rare commodity and a scintillating diversion... or, so I am told." He adds, with a little wink.

[Deathkeeper]

Black Goat Woods

Cute little faun? They're visually the same age and size! Rowan might even be taller since the real faun is a little smaller and raccoon-ish. Rowan currently looks like a sort of aggregate of all of the fauns here, plus Sage. He takes a step back on his "adorable" little hooves to avoid more handling.
" 'Mother' hasn't even showed up to any of my birthdays. She's not gonna come now." Of course Peach is a Queen so she couldn't just pop into the mortal realm willy-nilly anyway.
But he's sure if she wanted she could have a sprite deliver a birthday card.
He looks around nervously. Did the other fauns hear that? Please tell him they didn't. If the raccoon faun makes too much noise the rest will look over and then the rest of them might start fawning over him (or worse if the satyrs notice).
"I'm just here to check in on the sprites and stuff. I won't be here long. Is that okay?" he tries again.

Midnight Park

"That sounds wise." Artie bends down to the little bag strapped to her side. Doing so she makes a soft noise and loosens a few buttons on her blouse which doesn't quite fit with this slightly bigger Mask. Next time she'll just make it come like that. It's not like Jaahlyn is going to object.
"You know, my mortal self was better shaped for just carrying everything I'd ever need. I'll give it that at least." she does retrieve a pen and a piece of paper to write down a number, though.

[Vahnavoi]

[Arkham Street - Red Hook Pier]

Spoiler

Show

The rocket goes sailing off into the sky, given how high it was aimed, arcing off into the far distance and crashing into the wooded hills of Black Goat Park beyond the inhabited portion of Arkham Street. No doubt this will not be a problem in any way shape or form and won't have any negative effects in the future.

As for the putti?

Unlike the swordsman it has no ability to predict when it is being shot at and was busy looking down to reload its launch to allow it to fire again. Which, of course, means it doesn't notice the fireball streaking toward it.

It is a thankful thing that the putti don't appear to be supernaturally resilient. Perhaps comparable to a well warded or armored professional solider. Able to take some solid hits, surely, but a direct impact from a fireball isn't the sort of thing they're especially likely to survive.

At about this point the swordsman's apparent partner reaches the top of the tower, pauses for a moment, and then makes a wide tossing motion with several of its weird too-many jointed baby arms.

Nothing is actually thrown. Instead, a series of tiny square platforms flash into existence one after another, each about one quarter meter square and a scant centimeter thick. And there are MANY of them. Enough to fill the volume of a two meter cube, as it happens. Each is roughly two meters apart and reaches all the way from the top of their tower to the highest tower currently built.

"Come on we've got to hurry there's no cover!" the putti says before nimbly hopping from one platform to the next with a deftness that is downright shocking considering that the creature looks like an ambulatory end-table.

True to the creature's word, projectiles will soon be zipping through the air around them along with several putti yelling that whatever artifice the teammate just made is cheating.

"They aren't laws if you can break 'em, scrubs! Only suggestions!" the helpful (and apparently somewhat mouthy) putti yells back.

It's at about this point that the tower nearest to the Black Goat Park is splashed with an absolutely prodigious volume of wine which, for some inexplicable reason, causes it to revert back to stone and dirt. This, in turn, causes gravity to suddenly notice all this stuff cheekily floating in mid and and immediately demands that it begin accelerating toward the ground. The rocks, which are now a bit drunk it should be noted, follow this decree after a few seconds of awkward swaying and begin to plummet, taking all the putti that were on the tower with it.

Huh.

That's weird.

Wonder what that's about?

Ascent Status: 137Meters /500

Arkham Street - Red Hook Pier

Spoiler

Show

"What the fluff are you doing?" The voice comes from what appears to be an ordinary half-elf girl about 9 years old, holding a complicated crystal weapon that looks like a sniper rifle. She's standing upside down on the bottom of the platform the two "cheaters" were on. "If you can get that Creep to the top, you can get yourself to the top. Even if you don't win the placement match, you'll still get the victory reward for this arena." Oh, she's talking to the putti. She couldn't care less about Star of Hope. "Seeya!" She immediately starts running and jumping along the underside of the series of platforms.

It's good to know even a half-assed chant such as his can do harm to these creatures. It would be really inconvenient if the swordman was unable to return fire in an effective way. He turns his attention back to his ally, frowning slightly when he sees how they "throw" the blocks in place.

He's seen something like this before. Done something like this before? He's not sure.

Stairs of light, beginning from nothing, ending in nothing. Infinite blackness all around.

The intrusive thought stops him from immediately jumping forward, leaving him behind by few blocks. What was that? Did he get hit by some weapon?

No. There was neither premonition of danger nor ill intent. Whatever that was, it came from within himself.

He doesn't have time for introspection though, he has to leap forward to avoid a volley of fire aimed at the spot he was standing. He frowns again when he notices the half-elf girl using underside of their platforms to get ahead. Who is that? Where did she come from? Is she a bystander or another contestant? Probably the latter, based on her weaponry. Which means that, even if she looks like a kid, there will be no mercy.

"Path of Destruction: Crimson Flame Cannon!", the swordsman repeats as he jumps from platform to platform. A second ball of flame appears on his palm and he pitches it forward like a fastball, trying to hit the lower edge of the next platform the girl is going to jump on. If he times it right, it should knock her back and make her fall - though he isn't sure which direction gravity would pull her. The crumbling tower on the side, he has to ignore for now.

[5a Violista]

[Spirit Bomb]

Sadly, Seraphina is hungry and thirsty enough that she finishes off the water and granola way too quickly and has no choice but to just hold onto the wrapper and empty bottle for nearly forever.

She also feels very underdressed, with her ashy cloak, when the Women in Black (but one is a man) come in.

"Um," she says, wondering if they have that vacuum to get rid if any ghost that she may have gotten on her. "Hi."

"So it was some kind of magic-radioactive?" she says.
She looks at the notepad.
"Uh, yeah. Okay. Do you want me to tell you, too? Like that other person, and then you're going to make some sort of ball or whatever out of it." Telling them would be so much simpler.
But, she supposes, it's probably easier to bring a notepad than a tape recorder so that's why they want it written down.

So, Seraphina starts writing it down, some of the things she told Selekhael. Mostly, though, she writes down about the nausea and how it really wanted her to look at it but how it felt that she really shouldn't.

Yeah, simple enough!


[Mysterious Crimson DracoProtector Obsidian]

Obsidian figures Nekohammer is a decent enough name. Plus, she overheard the background characters saying that name too.

Obsidian looks around the sooty space.
It looks pretty nice.
She wouldn't mind taking this place over and making it her own domain. "This place is very pretty," she comments.

She looks around and the crawling familiars immediately stand out, like fireflies in a dark night.

Chalk it up to how her kind of dragon evolved, to hunt out life force and unlife force.

Obsidian sprints directly towards the largest group of familiars, and commands her Dark Maid, "Move ahead of me and hold them down!"
The shadowy undead creature runs ahead to distract and hold down some familiars, while Obsidian comes afterwards. She uses her shiny claws to cut at some familiars and, whenever her mouth is free, putting more of the spirits into it.
...
And the energy from them, unfortunately, goes straight from her stomach to the minion.

[Earl of Purple]

Spirit Bomb

Oh, good. The salt is working. Unfortunately, it's corroding fast. This is... very much not good. Benedict got cocky; he needs to remember that despite all his experience he didn't come to Inside expecting this so isn't actually prepared, and his magic is mostly quite weak. He's used one artefact which would be tricky to replace, he's not carrying any more salt, and the base level of his magic is barely able to harm these things. He'll slash at the first ghost to enter the salt where it has corroded, and pulls out the tumi for his other hand. If the magic isn't working, perhaps his sacrificial dagger will be more useful. He'll slash at a ghost with that, too. Perhaps the Relic-imbued blade will prove useful against the glitching ghost.

Fairy Godfather's Hotel

Having a meal or two delivered would not actually count.

Yuvan will find his provided accommodation a little cramped. The ceiling's a little low, he'd have to duck through the doors, the shower cubicle is short and the nozzle is low. The bed is massive, and the television (if Yuvan knows how to work it) too, with a good quality screen. There's an on-site restaurant, though the meals there aren't provided by the Godfather so he'd have to buy them himself, and everything depends on if Yuvan will go anywhere the night after he's shown his room.

[Rebonack]

[Arkham Street - Red Hook Pier]

The friendly putti, who we're just going to shorthand as Futti for now, gives a little gasp of surprise and dismay when Eao shows up, says her bit, and then breaks into a run toward the top of the tallest tower!

"Floof there's a copper-host in this match!" it swears. "This is going to be WAY harder, Mister Creep I don't know if our plan is going to work now."

Of all the rotten luck!

Copper-host empyreans only show up in maybe one out a hundred matches! There was one in every single one of Futti's advancement matches and the floofer won every single time. They've got so many extra advantages it makes winning REALLY hard! And this isn't even an advancement match! It isn't fair, obviously, but the Tower is anything but fair. It is Correct and fairness rarely factors into things.

Okay, okay this isn't completely hopeless. So who are they dealing with?

Batsael.

The Mighty Take.

It was probably too much to hope for a basket weaving Path, wasn't it?

The fireball will obliterate the step it explodes against, as well as the pair on either side of it as well, leaving a gap of roughly eight meters of empty air. Futti picks up speed as much as it can and LEAPS!

And at the apex of that leap fires BOTH rounds from its shotgun downward, the kick from the spread weapon giving it just that little added boost to make a nearly-fumbled landing at the next step!

It really doesn't matter what, if anything, the shutgun blast hits. If the spreader ammo just peppers the ground then it will still have done its job.


[Arkham Street - Black Goat Park]

Speaking of responsible friends...

Tristan has accompanied Jade to the party! For several reasons, really. Because the thought of her going to a fae shindig with a bunch of overly feely satyrs is kind of troubling. Because he enjoys spending time with her. And because he really needs to unwind after the whole Spirit Bomb thing. That was a horrible, traumatizing mess.

His outfit really isn't something special, mostly just denim with a bit of fluff on the inside to keep him warmer during the waning winter days. The whole being Chimera thing does keep him warmer even in human shape, but a nice jacket definitely doesn't hurt.

"This definitely reminds me of the Seed Dance," Tristan says, eyeing the bonfire at the middle of the stomping grounds. Thankfully there isn't a ring of Buttercups dancing around it this time.

He'll follow Jade toward the refreshments, sticking close.

The first butt-grab, however, isn't a satyr aiming at Jade.

It's a faun groping Tristan.

Wow that was quick.

The kumiho either doesn't notice or doesn't acknowledged Jade. She seems to have her paws full with Braeg.

Meanwhile!

"No, but an excuse is always welcome!" a satyr says to Jaahlyn, attracted to the group by the newcomer. Definitely a looker. It's that wolfy satyr, a real hunk. "So what animal you been ridin' babe? A goat"

"Nah, I think she IS a goat," says the pooka which is suddenly and inexplicably perched on Jaahlyn's head, leaning forward to peer at her with large, luminous golden eyes. The creature looks like a cross between a rabbit, a cat, and a goat and it is grinning at her with that way too wide mouth full of shiny white teeth. Before she has a chance to shoo the pooka away it hops down to the ground, suddenly taking the form of an all-black goat. Save, of course, for those golden eyes and that cheeky grin. "Anything? Let's hear your best song. THE best."

The pooka is, of course, not a goat.

This little trickster is many things among which goat is one.

It's getting to be quite the goat party tonight isn't it?

Meanwhile!

Hard to read.

That's a pretty reasonable description of a kumiho.

Assuming they aren't making a bunch of really obvious foxy gestures.

Just sitting there regally and staring?

Definitely hard to read.

"Oh? How tantalizing of a diversion you offer, to be a player in my game. Very well-"

The world peels away.

"Tell me a secret," comes the fox' whispered words.

Braeg will find that he stands as himself in the moment of his greatest, most painful regret. Every sound, every sight, every smell, every touch, every emotion, every feeling, every thought, every spark of soul and magic in that year, that month, that day, that hour, that minute, that second.

That moment.

Echoed.

What manner of man stands before the kumiho in that season of vulnerability? A hound? Or a hare?

Meanwhile!

Rowan gets a sympathetic look.

"Oh my gawsh that sounds, like, really terrible!" the faun laments. "That is, like, literally the WORST thing I've ever heard. Moms should always come to birthdays."

Or at least send servants to deliver cards.

Something!

True to Rowan's fear another faun and satyr (and one pig) join the little group.

"HEEEEY everyone! This cutie is the Summer Queen's kiddo! Isn't that, like, totally great!?" the terrible raccoon faun says. Loudly.

"Totally great!"
"*grunting pig noise*"
"Woah, the Queen's kid has got a bodacious butt. You look smokin' hot, babe."

This situation is growing rapidly worse.


[Spirit Bomb]

Selekhael reveals some really important information, as it happens.

Ganabel> Okay nearest crucible that I know of is about three blocks this way.
Khatabel> Woah woah, a demon? Seriously? See if you can find a critter to feed it, embodied demons give CRAZY drops! I'll be over as fast as I can.
Ganabel> Check her Infamy/Renown, floof-head. She's got basically zero Infamy there's no way her Path involves sacrificing Critters.
Khatabel> Oh, okay, yeah. I've mostly been farming Infamy. If the demon DOES eat a critter, though, let me know, okay? They're crazy strong you need at least a full team to take one down.
Radael> Has anyone tried the Law of Blades talent line? Is it any good?
Arukhael> This was caused by a manifesting demon? King's mercy... I've been healing people as fast as I can.
Khatabel> Ugh, floofing Watcher pet.
Keleiel> Don't be a floof-head, Khatabel, he's an apo he can't help it.
Arukhael> If things start going bad, Selekhael, just let me know and I'll join you.

Useful information!

And some not as useful information, too.

And then Selekhael hooks several ghosts and absolutely obliterates them with a follow-up spreader blast. Just completely wrecked. That clears away several of the terrible things, which is really important-!

-Benedict, who is having a bad time.

But his bad time just got less bad when several ghosts get yoinked away!

Also?

It turns out that stabbing said ghosts with that relic-enhanced weapon is REALLY USEFUL!

Why, you ask?

Because it causes the ghosts to be incinerated like a dandelion puff touched with an open flame. The impossible creatures can't stand being violently aligned with reality given that absolutely zero percent of them should be able to exist in the first place. Between Selekhael's offensive and the stabbed ghosts, Benedict has enough of an opening to make a run for it. Especially if Selekhael continues to aid him.

Maybe Benedict should have taken the warnings he was given a little more seriously?

Meanwhile!

Seraphina will soon discover the secrets of the vacuum.

It might be for sucking up ghosts!

"Ah," would be Watcher Ballentine's initial response to Seraphina's question.

Doesn't really answer her question at all, though.

"Not-" she begins, only to get a nudge from Watcher Sanchez. "Well, I suppose if one is willing to overlook the shortcomings of that, ah, analogy then yes, it is. Our intent is to determine if you need to be decontaminated, and if so to what extent."

Then Seraphina begins writing about her experience.

It feels...

Pretty nice!

Just sort of getting it off her chest and down in writing really takes a weight off her mind. Honestly it's a lot like feeling sick but you had gotten sick gradually so you didn't notice you were feeling sick but then you got better all of a sudden and WOW that sure does make a difference. Like that.

Once Seraphina is done writing the ink of her words begins to writhe and twist and metastasize into a horrible mass of eyes and teeth and nails and hair and flesh that squirms and strains, seemingly trapped under the lines of the notepad. Watcher Ballentine reaches out with her vacuum and sucks the teratoma drawing right off the page, then checks the readout on the back of the machine. "Ah, good, only a very minor imp infestation. You should be fine now."

Great! No one wants an imp infestation, very minor or otherwise.

Watcher Sanchez will take back the notepad, which may or may not be on the floor now thanks to Seraphina maybe or maybe not freaking out when the imps began writhing around.

"Can you tell me some more about, ah, this person who made the ball?" Watcher Ballentine will ask. She will only ask this after Seraphina is done freaking out, on the off chance that's a thing she's doing.