warwaited

[warwaited]

Eh, yeah, I’ll rip that trigger.

MOTHERS AND FUCKERS ONE AND ALL, IF YOU KNOW ANY GOOD ARCANE RP BLOGS LET ME KNOW. I’M HERE TO PARTY AND I’M NOT LEAVING.

[warwaited]

I won’t make an entire suite of voice lines for fighting game Rakatak. I won’t do it. I won’t.

[warwaited]

☭

BATTLE THEME: Clutch - Immortal

BATTLE INTRO: “Come, Fury of Avernus! Show me how you got your name.”

VICTORY: “A hard fight… and a fulfilling one.”

DEFEAT: “Ex… emplary…”

ASSIST: “Fire and steel!”

TAUNT: “Shall I even out your horns for you? Pay attention!”

REACTING TO TAUNT: “If you have air in your lungs for that, I must not be pushing you hard enough.”

FLEE: “You’ve gotten too worked up-!”

REACTING TO FLEE: “Truly? I thought better of you, Karlach.”

TIE: “Meant… to be…!”

PERFECT VICTORY: “That’s it? Get up!”

FINISH MOVE: “Enough of this-! EVISCERATE!”

(Student)

BATTLE THEME: Sifu OST: Snow of Carnage

BATTLE INTRO: “Remember to watch your feet.”

VICTORY: “I have some thoughts - when you’re ready.”

DEFEAT: “I’m not… done…”

ASSIST: “Let me take this one!”

TAUNT: “You are far out of rhythm, Karlach.”

REACTING TO TAUNT: “Do you have nothing more important to focus on?”

FLEE: “Hot hot hot hot hot-“

REACTING TO FLEE: “…oh. Another time, then?”

TIE: “But… how…?”

PERFECT VICTORY: “I’ll be truthful… disappointing.”

FINISH MOVE: “Nice try- you’re wide open!”

[warwaited]

☭

BATTLE THEME: Anarchy Reigns OST: Kill ‘em All

BATTLE INTRO: “I tire of your weak spine. FACE ME!”

VICTORY: “I told you. You are not meant for war.”

DEFEAT: “A… misjudgement…”

ASSIST: “A taste of fury!”

TAUNT: “Not only weak, but also pathetic. What a horrendous combination of garbage.”

REACTING TO TAUNT: “Does your oath ALLOW you to mock me so?”

FLEE: “I-I’ve wasted far too much time on you!”

REACTING TO FLEE: “HAH! As expected.”

TIE: “UNBELIEVABLE!”

PERFECT VICTORY: “You are worth nothing to me now.”

FINISH MOVE: “THE EMPIRE DEMANDS BLOOD!”

[warwaited]

you WILL indulge my fighting game obsession and send in that meme

[warwaited]

Send ☭ for a vs. battle quote to your muse

[warwaited]

My kingdom for a sevika

[warwaited]

“It’s an unfortunate fact of life,” she murmurs as she lollops into the workshop, “that maximum result often requires maximum effort.” Her gait is offset by the weight of the bags on her shoulders and the packs strapped around her waist. She’s thrown herself into this job like she has with everything else, and while it’s difficult to argue with the results, it’s nowhere near as hard to recognize someone who’s either living like she’ll never die or like she’d appreciate getting to the proverbial point as fast as possible.

Of course, as she sets the first of several deliveries down, Viktor gets an answer to his question that’s much less oblique than what she actually said. As usual, she’s arrived to him with injuries. Thankfully these ones aren’t as bad as some of the others she’s somehow managed to walk off, but the bandages she’s wrapped them with are having a hell of a time keeping them sanitary in the place she lives. She’ll probably have to change them again right after she leaves… and then maybe again when she gets back.

“A couple of big-ticket items today. I apologize for the lateness.” She reaches into one of the bags, pulling out a pressure gauge - good to have spares of, but unremarkable on its own. This one, however, boasts a pressurization chamber still attached. It’s set aside, and she starts rifling through some of the more bog standard scrap. Bag of screws, bag of bolts, some hard-forged metal that was almost certainly removed from something that still needed it - but the polish calls into question where it came from.

Finally, she breaks the silence, glancing over her shoulder as she continues to unload. “Do you actually want to know why I’m late?”

@hexedevolution

Sometimes, not knowing is better than knowing. She's not exactly incredibly worthy of hiring for most things. Street toughs aren't exactly thin on the ground in Zaun, but there are other ways to be considered valuable than just muscle power. One of them is an eye for good salvage... another is the willingness to go where the good salvage is.

When she'd first met Viktor it hadn't seemed like he would have much use for either of her applications. She'd originally been there following up on a lead about where Shimmer might have been coming from, but her attempt to track the man down hadn't gone anywhere meaningful until she'd practically fallen into his machinations. Time, though, had created something of an alliance of convenience.

Now, she makes her way through underground tunnels with yet another backpack full of stuff. It'd been gathered over the course of the last week from places she'd rather not speak on, more for deniability than anything. She hesitates at the sturdy door, then raises a fist to knock. She should really do something about how much her clothes pick up grime down here...

[warwaited]

In the ringing silence of the fight's end, the first immediately obvious sound to break it is the woman before him starting to softly pant. Blood drips from the head of the bat in her hand as she stares down at the floored thug, and after a few moments she tosses the cudgel away. Even that moment nearly takes her off her feet, the slight fighter stumbling to the wall and supporting herself heavily against it. Her breathing deepens, and she makes an effort to get herself under control.

She realizes Viktor asked her a question. First, she shakes her head, but then realizes it wouldn't exactly be easy to spot when she's facing away from him. "...no. Broken jaw, probably. If he dies..." A few more seconds of relative quiet. Her heaving breaths slow, finally. "...it won't be because of his injuries."

With effort, she pushes herself back closer to upright. A step or two is taken towards the mouth of the alley before she lets out a sound of pain and stumbles again, this time resting on a thankfully intact crate. There's a low groan. Her face turns, looking back at him with pinched, poorly-hidden discomfort and admittedly a little bit of irritation.

"You've strayed, Pilty." If nothing else, it might be some grim comfort that Viktor's heritage has grown more difficult to spot in the time he's been away from Zaun. "I... suggest you let go. Of whatever you're doing here. They won't be the last..."

A slightly wheezy chuckle. "The least you could do is find something... less obvious to wear."

 His hands find his crutch, dragging it back to himself to begin the process of getting up, but his right leg is locked up. He falls back to his knees with a grunt, gripping the crutch to hold it vertical. If he has to, he’s prepared to hook the leg of one of the men, just to try and stop the fighting, but it’s all happening so quick that he can barely keep is eyes on it.

 There are strikes landed on both sides of the conflict, with the majority being hits to the woman in white. He winces seeing a few of them, sympathetically considering how they hurt. He should run, he knows this, and yet he’s too frozen to move, merely pushing himself back against the wall and slowly sinking back down to a sit as his wide eyes take in the sight of violence.

 His eyes lock onto the bat when she grabs it, grimacing an eye shut when the leader makes heavy impact with the ground. The other two split off, apparently having had their fill of whooping for the day. She raises the bat, and he feels his heart skip a beat or two. “Wait–!” Too late. He shuts his eyes for the instant of contact.

 The bat comes down on the man, and a hollow silence fills his ears after the dull thump of impact. Slowly, he opens his eyes again to look at her, brows knit tight and steep. “Did…did you kill him?” He quickly looks between the man on the ground and the woman standing above him, fear and hyper-awareness still clinging to his thoughts.

[warwaited]

@hexedevolution

Sometimes, not knowing is better than knowing. She's not exactly incredibly worthy of hiring for most things. Street toughs aren't exactly thin on the ground in Zaun, but there are other ways to be considered valuable than just muscle power. One of them is an eye for good salvage... another is the willingness to go where the good salvage is.

When she'd first met Viktor it hadn't seemed like he would have much use for either of her applications. She'd originally been there following up on a lead about where Shimmer might have been coming from, but her attempt to track the man down hadn't gone anywhere meaningful until she'd practically fallen into his machinations. Time, though, had created something of an alliance of convenience.

Now, she makes her way through underground tunnels with yet another backpack full of stuff. It'd been gathered over the course of the last week from places she'd rather not speak on, more for deniability than anything. She hesitates at the sturdy door, then raises a fist to knock. She should really do something about how much her clothes pick up grime down here...

[warwaited]

"You can't be-"

Behind her. She almost feels it before he says it. There's not much chance of surviving in a place like this without honing your sixth sense, and survival is most of her day to day right now. Unfortunately, she misjudges how fast the brute's coming in. The world's knocked on its axis, and for a moment she's right there on the ground beside him.

Only a moment, though. As he advances, she lashes out, entangling his legs with her own and twisting. Now they're both down - but she's on her way up. The others, seeming content to hang back while the one she'd debuted on struggled to get to his feet, go from cruel laughter to surprise. She, to her credit, doesn't show much pain from the cheap shot. One pushes himself back to his feet using the bat as a crutch of his own, and the four of them face off.

She doesn't make them wait. It's not perfect - with three of them against her it's impossible to evade every strike, but for each hit she takes, Viktor's assailants are repaid with interest. A minute or so into the fight, she gets control of the leader's bat, taking advantage of an overextended swing to land an elbow in his brow and using his leading arm for a textbook hip throw.

His cronies see her standing over him, now armed, and decide this has gotten to be too much. They take off running, to heartfelt dismay from the man on the floor.

He looks up. She swings down. Silence reigns.

 His vision is blurry, and his crutch is on the ground feet out of his reach. It takes him a second to remember what had just happened, both from the shock of it and the impact of his head with the edge of the crate, which is now half-broken under him. He’s still trying to catch his breath when he blearily looks up at the man who had just struck him upside the head with a large, open hand.

 He knew he shouldn’t have worn his lab clothes to the undercity. Usually, he dresses in his more Zaunite clothing when visiting his home, to blend in and avoid confrontations just like this. Violence is just a part of Zaun, especially now, with the invention of the Hexgate leaving them with even less resources. It’s a complication of an invention meant to change the world for the better that left him feeling haunted by guilt each night.

 He sees the man draw a knife, and his heart clenches in his chest with icy blood. He’s going to die here, isn’t he? He can’t bare to look, shutting his eyes tight.

 Then he hears rapidly approaching footfall. His eyes open just in time to see a flash of white, and the man get knocked to the ground, limp and prone. He’s frozen there, speechless from a mixture of fear and surprise. The white figure, a woman, looks down at him and suggests he run, but he knows that’s not an option. He looks down at his brace-clad leg, then back up, just in time to see one of the men coming up on her with a bat.

 “Look out! Behind you!” he shouts. He's already trying to move into a crawl to get to his crutch.

[warwaited]

@mxchineherald

This isn't her "territory". She's been micromanaging a couple of blocks, watching the alleyways and occasionally slipping through tenements in the dead of night when people do business they'd rather wasn't seen. Usually, when she makes her presence known, they either run or try to scare her off. Either way suits her - one sees them getting the hell out to go do what they're doing someplace she doesn't have to deal with it.

One usually turns into her exercise for the evening. She's started being less down on herself for her appearance lately. She might not be visibly recognizable as a bruiser, the only warning a potential opponent might get is her disconcertingly confident footwork, but every once in a while it feels good to be thoroughly underestimated.

So when she hears a commotion down a laneway tucked between two buildings looming over it like they might fall down and crush the cramped, trash-strewn space between, the thought that this is far from where people even might know who she is doesn't even cross her mind. She enters the alley at a brisk walk.

Four people. Three standing. One kneeling, or maybe limp, propped up by the broken crate he's slumped against.

The first indicator Viktor gets that he's probably going to avoid getting stabbed in a bad part of town is the ringing of shoes against pavement before a young woman dressed in white collides with the rightmost of his attackers knee-first, landing light on her feet. Her target isn't so lucky. The thug's two friends turn her way, and she glances down at the... Piltovan?

She blinks. "I think you should run."

[warwaited]

Eh, yeah, I’ll rip that trigger.

MOTHERS AND FUCKERS ONE AND ALL, IF YOU KNOW ANY GOOD ARCANE RP BLOGS LET ME KNOW. I’M HERE TO PARTY AND I’M NOT LEAVING.

[warwaited]

“When I first was,” it begins, “goblins were those who knew me best. When they first emptied their warrens, thronging across the landscape like a desperate tide with no thought in their heads but the need to take, to persist, I ran with them.”

War produces a pipe from its sleeve, taking its time with pressing the contents of a small sachet from the same sleeve into the bowl. “I scratched, I bludgeoned, I bit. I threw stones. I knew nothing else at the time. Only that I had been, and I was waiting, and those had finally come who understood me. I belonged to them, and was loved by them.” The bowl is prepared, and a flame alights from its thumb to be held to the dried, crushed leaves within.

It tokes, and blows the smoke from its nose. “Later, I belonged to the hobgoblins. They learned my ways - ways that had not yet been with my first hosts. They learned grand strategy. The true dance, not merely the feeling of the steps.” There’s a grin, private and knowing. “Though man tried to steal me away, they lacked… commitment. They believed the theory that I had a purity to me that should not be tainted. The hobgoblins did not.”

Reminiscing ends. It looks back to her, really seeing her rather than simply turning its eyes in the High Harper’s direction. “Who I am is not quite the right question. I am the reason. I am new worlds dawning from empires fallen. I am the thing that good men fear and great men find their legacies in. I am the ultimate test of any society that wishes to continue into the annals of history.”

A hand rises, gesturing widely. Almost grandiose in how it draws attention to the thing making it. She laughs, smoke still trailing in the air, and tips the pipe in Jaheira’s direction.

“War. I am War.”

“A moral victory is only as valuable as the balance it upholds,” she said, her voice calm yet firm. “Preserving balance must always be the priority. In politics, that means understanding that no ruler should be swayed solely by their personal ideals or whims. Nor should they be lenient to the point of chaos. True leadership walks the narrow path between strength and compassion, never forgetting the needs of the people.”

She paused, letting the thought settle, then continued, “Balance is achieved through listening as much as deciding, through compromise where possible, and unwavering resolve when necessary. It’s about standing firm when the scales threaten to tip and knowing when to act to prevent that fall. It’s not an easy dance, but without it, no civilization can last long, no matter how grand their victories.”

Jaheira's expression hardened as she nodded at Rakatak's words, the flicker of a battle-worn conviction glinting in her eyes. "Morals have no place when balance is at stake," she said, her voice cool and unwavering. "When the world teeters on the edge, it’s not a question of what feels right or just; it’s about what will preserve the fragile equilibrium. Sacrifices must be made, decisions rendered without the luxury of sentiment. Only then can we ensure that life, in all its chaotic harmony, continues."

Despite having the same objective and their occasional alignments in perspective, there were clear and undeniable dissonances — things Jaheira could not afford to leave unchecked. The path to balance was already fragile, and allowing such cracks to widen would see it shattered entirely. Genocide, after all, would do nothing to serve balance.

Jaheira's breath caught in her chest, the strange dissonance in Rakatak's voice suddenly cutting through her like a cold blade. It was uncanny — the yearning, the conflict, the raw pull of something ancient and menacing. She had heard that tone before, in the shadowed moments of her past, in the guttural, tortured confessions of a bhaalspawn standing on the precipice between damnation and salvation.

But the woman before her was not a child of Bhaal. There was no trace of that familiar madness, no blood-hazed thirst clawing its way through her words. She was poised, calculating, and yet... there was something too inhuman in her longing, yet too unmistakable for Jaheira to ignore. A tremor passed through her fingers as old memories surged — the screams, the despair, the crimson-streaked battles where victory and tragedy were indistinguishable.

Jaheira clenched her jaw, forcing her breathing to steady. "Who... who are you truly?" she murmured, voice low and edged with an instinctive wariness. The past clawed at her, a shadow just beyond sight, but she pushed it back, refusing to be overtaken.

This was not then.

This was now.

And she needed to understand.

[warwaited]

Anthelion smiles at the vote of confidence, even if she’s not especially sure she deserves it just yet. They’re allies of circumstance, that’s for certain, and so far the circumstances have been much stronger than any desire they might have to go their separate ways or risk fracturing the group over… ideological differences. Most of the work has been done for her, not that she’d say that out loud when Neyvin is clearly trying to bolster her spirits.

“I know. I just wish it didn’t have to go that way. Now, especially, with the sheer scale of violence I’m…” A self-effacing smile. “Provisionally in charge of. Each of those negotiations feels just that more important for having an increasingly detailed idea of what it will mean for them if I’m not able to change their mind.”

The monk sighs heavily with a small, private grimace. “I do my best not to hand out any injuries that can’t be walked away from… maybe after a couple hours of being unconscious. The others don’t share that concern, and I can hardly blame them given that they’re in a fight for their life. I just wish things were different.”

She latches on a bit to the opportunity to change the subject, posture that had been steadily drooping perking back up. “Oh- actually, we’d be avoiding the Grymforge if we could. The problem is that from what we’ve been able to tell from our maps, there’s an entrance back to the surface somewhere near there that would take us exactly where we need to be. We’re only in the Underdark in the first place to avoid the shadow curse.”

"Many people only know to mark time by the passing of the sun and moon, and with both taken away I suppose you would have to look elsewhere. Having only been here a day or two, the question's answer still eludes me." She looks back out over the water as the paladin accepts her offer, letting them get good and comfortable before she speaks again.

"The attempt was certainly made. We're... all fielding theories on how it could have happened. One or two think that the process being interrupted by the fiend attack is responsible, but. I have my own ideas about it." She looks over at them again, smiling softly. "I'll try to keep challenging your beliefs, then. Keeping an open mind is important."

Neyvin's gaze is followed back up the path. "We all have our own ideas of how to approach these situations, too. Mediating for all of them can wear on the nerves in stressful situations, but it is worth it. Always, it is." Anthelion laughs again, the half-light of the Underdark serving to further call attention to the gentle glow of her eyes and mouth.

"So many perspectives, so many... points of origin. All of them think they know the right thing to do, based off years, maybe more than a century of learned experience. Some of them are quicker to blows than I am, it's true."

A long-suffering shake of the head. "...most of them, really. But thus far they've had faith in me. I've tried to prove them right for it. Shame about the dueg. I... feel bad, reaching out to them. I know they're beholden to their keepers, but I always feel as if every conversation ends with more remaining to be said."

[warwaited]

With Arcane S2 out... it might be time I make a concerted effort to get into that RPC.

[warwaited]

@feuerwizard

She hasn’t made any secret of the fact that she’s watching him. Her gaze has been intermittent, but studious - every once in a while they’ll catch each other watching. She’ll keep eye contact. It’s gone on most of the evening when she finally approaches, less striding than slipping. Were Caleb not pretty well aware of her presence already, he might well have been startled.

Thankfully not the case. She keeps observing him in silence for a few moments, going from face to hands and back to face. Her eyes narrow. She speaks - for the first time he’s heard despite the fact they’ve been in reasonably close contact for a few days now.

“How much of it is hand movements?”

Pause.

“The magic. How much is movement and how much is… other things.”