The Watchers of Night (
thewatchers) wrote in
daybreakacademy2020-12-16 12:01 pm
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[Event] Into The Labyrinth

Into the Labyrinth
Log Comm | Network Comm | OOC Comm | Navigation

In the heart of winter, the teeth of the cold and dark sunk deep, the Fourth Herald of Night has come. In the place that was once the cradle of civilization, the birthplace of mankind, the water has run dry. Between the rivers, drained and still, a massive black ziggurat rises to float above them, called into being by the sacrifice.
The ziggurat’s interior is a lush and gilded place, an obvious way for Utultar to display his trophies and the accumulated opulence of hundreds of years. Where the water has been stilled below, hundreds of fountains are flowing in elaborate designs. Hanging gardens have strange and luxurious blooms. Despite harboring a being that seeks to end life as humans and nonhumans alike know it, the Fourth Herald’s palace is surprisingly hospitable - or at least, it does nothing to impede progress through the near-silent halls.
Cowed and silent servants picked from Outlands species as well as what seems to be a whole swathe of humankind stare or scurry out of the way of your progress. They bear a multitude of things; glittering ornaments, shining scrolls preserved in gold and silver, too-lifelike statues, and many other treasures that Utultar obviously covets. All of them have collars locked around their necks, another symbol of the Herald’s utter dominance.
The walls are covered in a history of events that Utultar seems to have had personal hand in, or at least seem to show him triumphing constantly in his various contracts. In between the murals and carvings, the walls are engraved floor to ceiling with writing in some ancient, inhuman tongue. Some daemonic dialect, so old that even those from the Outlands would find it no more comprehensible than a modern English speaker would find cuneiform.
Still, those familiar with contracts might recognize something of the structure…
This palace is an altar to Utultar’s ego, massive enough to consider itself a god in its own right, and it is designed in every aspect to comfort and protect its master. The only way through to the heart is to open each of the three gates, leading to the center and to Utultar himself.
He does not intend to make it easy for you.
Beginning Guardian
“Who dares seek passage past me?” he demands, eyes suddenly ablaze with golden fire. He paces like a trapped beast, flaring his wings as far as they can stretch, gazing upon his visitors with predatory intensity.
Re: Beginning Guardian
He slows upon entering the oasis, resting on his walking stick. "We do," he calls, his eyes narrowing - a predator watching another.
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"If you guard this door, then you must have terms for passage; what are they?"
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"Answer my riddle correctly, and I shall let you pass. If not..." His unhappy smile is full of sharp, gleaming teeth. "Then I will exact my price, as the law states."
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"...Why is there a law for that? Is there a court of sphinxs somewhere?"
How do they fit in suits and ties, for that matter. These are very important questions right now.
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It becomes even more so when Sherlock speaks. "If a riddle is already known, it is hardly a sufficient challenge," he says, grouchily. "No, I have something more difficult for you."
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Middle Guardian
The weaver stops when she became aware of approaching people, setting the spindle aside and rotating the frame to better see, revealing a young woman, her glossy blue-back hair pinned up in a simple loop, dressed in a ten-layered Heian-era jūnihitoe that falls well past her feet and pools around the loom - the hues go from deep marine blue with splashes of green, sifting lighter to white, and ending with blood red. It gives the impression that she’s floating on a bloodied lily pond.
“Oh, I cannot remember when the last person arrived here,” she starts, speaking with quick excitability, gesturing for the group to approach closer. “Come, come - it’s been far too long since I heard another voice!”
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[Oh no.]
[Do you hear that? That's the sound of Jailbreak audibly turning on the charm. You can practically hear a switch flick.]
[She saunters forward, a slow leisurely movement that manages to look like she's responding to the invitation to move closer without any suspicion of the woman's motives at all... despite not actually moving her that much closer, physically.]
[She's gay, not an idiot.]
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[And there's Teto, peeking out from behind Jail break and ruining the moment. If there was even a "moment" at all. Oh well.]
How long have you been here?
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Yes, it's been... some decades I believe? Since anyone has been here, not many get this deep in the lair. What year is it? What nations are you from? I heard of the veil shattering but little else.
[She started with the questions, rapid-fire, looking over the intruders]
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[She idly taps a finger on the chin of her mask like she's considering the question.]
Well, I know it's 2020 CE, if that calendar means anything to you- but hey. As long as we're on the subject of calendars... how do you feel about dates. [Just. Openly winking suggestively at the unknown woman in the middle of the apocalypse palace.]
I know a great place, if you wanna talk over a good meal sometime.
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End Guardian
He’s tall, dark of skin and hair and eye. In one hand, he carries a mace inlaid with gold and lapis lazuli in elaborate designs. In the other, he carries a simple dried flower. It might have been pale once, but it’s impossible to tell now that it’s so long desiccated and dead.
More gold is woven through his robes in elaborate fine strands, and still more hangs in rings in his magnificently oiled and styled beard. He has a hat that sitting Popes and Egyptian pharaohs would call “a little much”. His bare skin is painted with shimmering designs, elaborate magical sigils. He has enough jewelry to supply an entire debutante ball.
And looking at him, you have to wonder who even felt the need to bother, because he’s radiating so much magical power that it would crush the breath out of anyone watching even if he’d stood there completely naked.
There are mages, and then there are mages. Whoever this man is, he may very well be one of the most powerful human magic users on Earth.
And by the collar around his neck, plain and ugly and a distinct mismatch with the rest of his elaborate golden beauty, he’s a prized part of Utultar’s collection… and the final obstacle you’ll face to reach him.
“Well? Get on with it, children.”
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Valvatorez marched forward, undeterred by the thrumming magical power radiating from this man. Oh, there was no doubt at all that this guardian was incredibly formidable, even despite this being proving to be stupidly, needlessly ostentatious to the point that even Valvatorez might suggest dialing it back a bit. As extra, performative, and bombastic as he could be, there was still a certain value in humility in these displays.
"We have business with your master. If you have some sort of riddle for us like your two predecessors, I would hear it. Otherwise, I am going to insist you stand aside."
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[He doesn't move aside, but he doesn't seem poised to attack either, just casually crossing his arms and leaning against the gate. He seems more weary than anything- bored, maybe.]
A riddle? Fine.
What is the name of my greatest treasure?
[...yeah, he's really not feeling it. You're probably going to have to try solving his... not so much a riddle as a statement, apparently... because he doesn't look like he's in the mood to give you another one.]
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Do we get to ask you any more questions? [ That's not an answer, but he feels he should try anyway. They don't exactly have time for guessing games. ]
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You just did. [Deadpan two: dead harder.]
[A pause, and then:] And yes, I will answer them. I'll even do so honestly, since none of us want to be here longer than we have to.
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Can I have your hat?
[The worst part is that he's serious.
He wants that hat.]
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Utultar Bossfight
“Here, you will decide the last seconds of your miserable lives. I expect you to be honored that those last seconds will be spent in my presence, before I utterly destroy all you hold dear.”
Almost lazily, he gets up from the throne. His hands shift to sharpened claws, and he strides forward. A heavy tide of magic surges from him, filling the room with a weight that seems to press down on everyone present.
His laugh is unpleasant and dark.
“Now, where are your manners? Bow to me.”
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All she does for the moment is give a silent, defiant glare; she'll only bow to those who actually deserve her respect, and Utultar making it clear that he intends to destroy them—and everything—is doing him no favors in that regard.
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He hadn't forgotten the night of their first meeting. How close he already was to this Herald and not realized it at the time. And the countless lives lost when this bastard reanimated the body of the first Herald as a sideshow. He'd exchanged words with him just before then, too. It was a moment that still haunted his memories, constant What-Ifs playing out if he had done more to stop him. Of course, he'd have been a fool to try then. He knows that. And maybe he's a fool for trying now.
But seeing all of this was a reminder that even if it was dangerous, this was the right thing to do.
He only shot the daemon a similar glare that Desidera did, sparks of azure following in his wake as he walked, even in spite of that familiar, lethal-feeling pressure Utultar's magic produced.
"Gonna go with 'no' on that one, chief," Gunvolt flatly stated, making sure to be as dismissive as possible. His gun drawn, safety off, and ready at a moment's notice, he stared down the Herald with fierce, cold blue eyes. "I told you not to cause any trouble and there wouldn't be any problems. And boy, do we have problems right now. If you think I'll take a knee to anyone, much less a second-rate tyrant like you, you're gonna be in for a rude surprise."
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"Simple words will not be enough, boy." Ah, he remembers this one. One of the radiant children he so detests, yet another obstacle to his plans. "It was not an option. It was an order."
The pressure grows oppressive, crushing, as he brings his power to bear with a wave of his hand - but as he pulls more magic from the contract he's chosen to make it work, the tether that links him to it becomes easier to see, rooted in one of the many rings that he wears. Power seethes and bubbles around it, a fountain of magical force.
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...and speaking of which, those threads of magic look far too familiar. Her eyes close for a moment as she focuses, channeling as much energy as she can into her blade while trying to remain (if she even truly is) undetectable and then, in one fluid movement, kicks off the ceiling she had been lurking on and lunges forward with her rapier. Her target? Not Utultar at all, but rather the tether he's so kindly revealed to them. She doubts it'll sever it, but if she can damage it at all, this fight will be quite a bit easier. Death of a thousand cuts and all that.
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Gunvolt himself though gritted his teeth and stood fast against the pressure, refusing to let his knees buckle beneath him or to give the daemon any of the satisfaction. Truth be told, on some primal level, he felt afraid. But there was a feeling in the air, dancing in the back of his subconscious. A spark, a light, urging him onward to face this challenge without reservation. Was it instinct? His will? Was it the power of his Radiance speaking to him, telling him to do what he might have been born for? Maybe it was all of it.
At any rate, Gunvolt kept Utular's vision on him as best as he could in the meantime.
"I don't take orders from people I don't respect. Already learned that lesson. And besides, I already knew words won't be enough. Never are with guys like you. Always something to prove."
Dart Leader drawn, he sets it to full power, the humming whine of the weapon growing more intense. For now, the weapon was loaded with orichalcum rounds with maximum velocity. Who knows if it'd be enough, but by now he has enough faith in his power to send it where he wants without tagging things first. Quite a shift from where he was at when he arrived.
"So we already know how this is going to go. One of us isn't walking away. That's you, if you're not catching on. Me, I got jitt to do. Like the laundry."
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