Ideas? Rejectable in totality, of course.
All-Consuming Devouring Flame: A fire, unrestrained, is one of the most destructive things in the world. Such is one of the divine truths of Addaioth himself, God of the All-Consuming Flame. Concession is inconceivable. Pride and fury provide strength beyond strength. When the God Ellinil saw to devour his more than one hundred children, it was Addaioth alone who chose to face him in direct battle. And so it is with the one who takes up this Sword Art. Enveloping the heart and blood with the everburning power of Aqshy, propelling the one using the Sword Art into an endless furious assault without any restraint. Every drop of energy, every mote of strength, brought to the fore and fed to the fire, ensuring an extended assault at the fullest power possible. This comes at the cost of defense, of any possibly conservation for further foes, an extended battle, or otherwise. At the end of one utilizing this Sword Art, there lies only ash and death. But when it truly matters, what can be better than to fight with every furious breath until your last?
The Futile Defiance of the Crone: Morai-Heg determines the fate of all mortals with and within her rune-pouch. Or at least, so it is said. And it is, perhaps, even true. But on the day that death comes, it must earn the soul of one who has mastered this Sword Art. All effort to escape, to strike down the foe, ceases. Instead, that greatest of instincts, that most primal of urges, to survive, comes to the fore. Mind, body, and soul commune in harmony to undertake a constant, consistent, unending and unyielding defensive shell regardless of the size, strength, or number of enemies facing them. To parry, deflect, to hold back the enemy from taking the wielder's life for just one more exchange. One more moment. One more second. There are few possibilities for the Sword Art's conclusion, for eventually the wielder will tire enough that the shell cracks and breaks, for to so devote oneself to defense is to refuse any chance of escape. However, there does exist a curious streak of confused hope to the Sword Art, for if only the wielder survives long enough, help may come in some fashion or another. Or perhaps it will not. In the end, defying the Crone forever is impossible. Death will come in the end. But perhaps, if one masters this Sword Art, not quite so soon as the Crone may have thought.
All-Consuming Devouring Flame: A fire, unrestrained, is one of the most destructive things in the world. Such is one of the divine truths of Addaioth himself, God of the All-Consuming Flame. Concession is inconceivable. Pride and fury provide strength beyond strength. When the God Ellinil saw to devour his more than one hundred children, it was Addaioth alone who chose to face him in direct battle. And so it is with the one who takes up this Sword Art. Enveloping the heart and blood with the everburning power of Aqshy, propelling the one using the Sword Art into an endless furious assault without any restraint. Every drop of energy, every mote of strength, brought to the fore and fed to the fire, ensuring an extended assault at the fullest power possible. This comes at the cost of defense, of any possibly conservation for further foes, an extended battle, or otherwise. At the end of one utilizing this Sword Art, there lies only ash and death. But when it truly matters, what can be better than to fight with every furious breath until your last?
The Futile Defiance of the Crone: Morai-Heg determines the fate of all mortals with and within her rune-pouch. Or at least, so it is said. And it is, perhaps, even true. But on the day that death comes, it must earn the soul of one who has mastered this Sword Art. All effort to escape, to strike down the foe, ceases. Instead, that greatest of instincts, that most primal of urges, to survive, comes to the fore. Mind, body, and soul commune in harmony to undertake a constant, consistent, unending and unyielding defensive shell regardless of the size, strength, or number of enemies facing them. To parry, deflect, to hold back the enemy from taking the wielder's life for just one more exchange. One more moment. One more second. There are few possibilities for the Sword Art's conclusion, for eventually the wielder will tire enough that the shell cracks and breaks, for to so devote oneself to defense is to refuse any chance of escape. However, there does exist a curious streak of confused hope to the Sword Art, for if only the wielder survives long enough, help may come in some fashion or another. Or perhaps it will not. In the end, defying the Crone forever is impossible. Death will come in the end. But perhaps, if one masters this Sword Art, not quite so soon as the Crone may have thought.
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