To the Letter, Or, The Sidereals Deal with an Outside of Context Problem (Exalted/Destiny)
- Thread starter GreggHL
- Start date
- Crossover
- Location
- Queensland, Australia
Yeah, uh... If this sort of thing was a 'solution' to the Exalted, then there wouldn't be Neverborn or Yozi around. As they are around, that suggests something quite spectacular is going to occur shortly. Before Autochthon learns what someone tried to do to one of his granddaughters I mean.
How to Deal with Taking; Round 2
New
GreggHL
Engaging hilarity engine/air intake
- Location
- Daejeon, Republic of Korea
The knife floats before him.
It is shaped like [redemption].
It would be so easy.
It would be so easy.
"It's never this easy."
Turncloak grips the knife, but he is not changed by it. He takes it, but it does not cut him. The Darkness tries to change him, but he lets it bare witness to Oblivion. The black around him shatters and freezes against the chill within him, and he is once more witnessing the battle between the two Princes.
Looking at the knife, he pockets it. He can study it later. He turns, as Five reappears, unchanged. Somewhat disgusted. Horizons appears, idly holding a ring between his index finger and thumb and pocketing it.
"We're all good?" Turncloak asks.
"It offered me humanity," Five says, brow furrowed, "I think that was the Winnower? I am unsure."
It starts as a point of unlight. Expanding out into a sphere, light penetrating outwards and breaking the shell. Floating upon ribbons of flayed stars, her brow a crown made from the bones of those who have wronged her, haloed in a spinning mandala of baby seals and pumpkin spice, Nega-Star laughs, her voice a killing word.
"Oh for fuck's sake," Turncloak mutters.
"I see Star has given into temptation," Five observes.
The photo-negative Chosen of Hurly-Burly raises a clenched fist, eyes and mouth shining with shimmering light. "Bow before me! Instead of a God-King they shall have a glorious QUEEN! Beautiful and terrible as the DAWN! Fair as the Sea and the Sun and the Snow upon the Mountain! Dreadful as the Storm and the Lightning! All shall love me and despair-"
Turncloak walks up to her and backhands her. It isn't a lovetap, it isn't gentle. For one, it snaps her to the side and makes her do a full, three-hundred-and-sixty-degree rotation, her distorted, off-key voice going from her conquering speech to a warbled squeak. Second, he activates Order Affirming Blow and knocks the Taking clean out of her. Restored to her senses and her original form, she stumbles back.
"Oh wow," she says, "That happened."
"Shaping defenses Star," he says, "What'd I say about shaping defenses?"
"To be fair, we're Sidereals and our shaping defenses aren't worth shit."
He grunts an agreement. Their shaping defenses suck.
The basalt rises from impact, the Sword of Crota slicing it apart and the God-Prince leaping across the disparate pieces to close the distance between himself and the First Among Equals. The swords clash, sparks illuminating the gloom like stars. Ligier smiles, and the eyes of the Annihilator shine brightly. There is understanding between them- warrior princes, swordsmen, nobility.
The swords clash again- rending the very fabric of the Sanctum. White tears between Here and There- things from beyond peak in and withdraw, knowing better than to get involved in this business. The Sword of Crota flashes between the distance, cutting through space, through defense, and Ligier parries, before vanishing and appearing across the remains of the stone arena. He touches his cheek, looks at the rich red upon his fingers, and sheathes the Sword of the Yozi.
"You are an excellent opponent, Prince Crota," he says, "You have my respect. Now I must call our battle concluded."
The fire of the prince, the fire upon the God-Prince, does not dim. He levels the sword at the Demon Prince, the sparks of his teeth illuminating the gloom.
"Do you yield?" Ligier asks.
"To yield is to die. To live, one must fight, even to the death."
Ligier smiles. His teeth sharpen. Rising into the air, his arms spread out. "Very well."
The Sword of the Yozi burns away. His jewelry burns away.
"If you will not yield-"
His cloak burns away. His skin and hair ignite.
"Then I will be forced to bring about-"
The green flame ignites from him. Consuming him. Silhouetting him in a sphere of vitrolic radiance.
It is shaped like [redemption].
It would be so easy.
It would be so easy.
"It's never this easy."
Turncloak grips the knife, but he is not changed by it. He takes it, but it does not cut him. The Darkness tries to change him, but he lets it bare witness to Oblivion. The black around him shatters and freezes against the chill within him, and he is once more witnessing the battle between the two Princes.
Looking at the knife, he pockets it. He can study it later. He turns, as Five reappears, unchanged. Somewhat disgusted. Horizons appears, idly holding a ring between his index finger and thumb and pocketing it.
"We're all good?" Turncloak asks.
"It offered me humanity," Five says, brow furrowed, "I think that was the Winnower? I am unsure."
It starts as a point of unlight. Expanding out into a sphere, light penetrating outwards and breaking the shell. Floating upon ribbons of flayed stars, her brow a crown made from the bones of those who have wronged her, haloed in a spinning mandala of baby seals and pumpkin spice, Nega-Star laughs, her voice a killing word.
"Oh for fuck's sake," Turncloak mutters.
"I see Star has given into temptation," Five observes.
The photo-negative Chosen of Hurly-Burly raises a clenched fist, eyes and mouth shining with shimmering light. "Bow before me! Instead of a God-King they shall have a glorious QUEEN! Beautiful and terrible as the DAWN! Fair as the Sea and the Sun and the Snow upon the Mountain! Dreadful as the Storm and the Lightning! All shall love me and despair-"
Turncloak walks up to her and backhands her. It isn't a lovetap, it isn't gentle. For one, it snaps her to the side and makes her do a full, three-hundred-and-sixty-degree rotation, her distorted, off-key voice going from her conquering speech to a warbled squeak. Second, he activates Order Affirming Blow and knocks the Taking clean out of her. Restored to her senses and her original form, she stumbles back.
"Oh wow," she says, "That happened."
"Shaping defenses Star," he says, "What'd I say about shaping defenses?"
"To be fair, we're Sidereals and our shaping defenses aren't worth shit."
He grunts an agreement. Their shaping defenses suck.
The basalt rises from impact, the Sword of Crota slicing it apart and the God-Prince leaping across the disparate pieces to close the distance between himself and the First Among Equals. The swords clash, sparks illuminating the gloom like stars. Ligier smiles, and the eyes of the Annihilator shine brightly. There is understanding between them- warrior princes, swordsmen, nobility.
The swords clash again- rending the very fabric of the Sanctum. White tears between Here and There- things from beyond peak in and withdraw, knowing better than to get involved in this business. The Sword of Crota flashes between the distance, cutting through space, through defense, and Ligier parries, before vanishing and appearing across the remains of the stone arena. He touches his cheek, looks at the rich red upon his fingers, and sheathes the Sword of the Yozi.
"You are an excellent opponent, Prince Crota," he says, "You have my respect. Now I must call our battle concluded."
The fire of the prince, the fire upon the God-Prince, does not dim. He levels the sword at the Demon Prince, the sparks of his teeth illuminating the gloom.
"Do you yield?" Ligier asks.
"To yield is to die. To live, one must fight, even to the death."
Ligier smiles. His teeth sharpen. Rising into the air, his arms spread out. "Very well."
The Sword of the Yozi burns away. His jewelry burns away.
"If you will not yield-"
His cloak burns away. His skin and hair ignite.
"Then I will be forced to bring about-"
The green flame ignites from him. Consuming him. Silhouetting him in a sphere of vitrolic radiance.
"YOUR ABSOLUTE DESTRUCTION!"
And the Green Sun dawns upon the battlefield.