Planeswalkers

[GoldenHouou]

Dominaria
Madra, The Talon Gates

So she was foolish enough to attack him after all.

How very unfortunate.

The alloy sunk into Rckaird’s wrist, but he had ages ago prepared for the attack. And so, while the scissoring blades did actually work on his armor, his powers manifested on the spot they would have sunk into, deflecting them away before they could do the deed they were set out to accomplish. As if he would, after a hundred years of experience, let a little girl sever his hand with a poorly coordinated attack such as that. His countering powers were usually reserved for magic, but if given preparation time like this, physical attacks could be deflected just as well. And she had practically shown him where she was going to strike well in advance. Foolish girl.

She then shifted into a more battle-suitable form and proceeded attacking him once more. Not seeing the need to take out his shield, Rckaird merely raised an arm to cover his “face” from the impact. She smashed against him with considerable force, causing the archon to slide backwards on the sand. He kept the muscles of his arm flexed and gathered mana on the spot of contact yet again to lighten the blow, but he knew he could not counter it this time.

She kept shouting profanities, which Rckaird didn't feel warranted answers. Such temper she possessed. That would no doubt prove trouble for her later.

As she ceased her attack and Rckaird lowered the arm he had used to shield himself from the attack with, he found it smoking, the armor burning red hot. Unlike with the first blow, he had actually felt that. His arm felt slightly numb and the burning sensation remained even after the impact. This new form of hers had power, he had to admit, but that seemed to be all she possessed; raw, uncontrolled power. And even then, it wasn’t quite enough. She needed something far more powerful to get through his defense.

She threw in yet another threat and seemed to be prepared to continue the fight. How unsightly that she would engage in a meaningless battle over someone trying to teach her manners. It was unfortunate indeed, but he would need to calm the woman by force.

Rckaird allowed his arm to fall back to his side. Standing still, not seeing the need to pull out his weapons for this, he gathered the overflowing blue mana and started to take control of the water behind them. The surface of the ocean rippled and then suddenly rose, bursting forth in a shimmering, high pressured stream that smashed against the woman and wrapped around her in order to encase her in a blinding, watery prison. The water sought to enter every opening it could find in an attempt to soothe her from the inside.

Rckaird watched calmly, raising his hand slightly and allowing some of the glistening water to wrap around it to heal the damage it had received. He was ready to draw his shield should the need arise. And at the same time he kept controlling the water attacking Claire, the stream from the ocean continuous and unrelenting.

 

[niedude]

Talon Gates
Madra
Dominaria

The sight of her mighty dragon being reduced to nothingness in one single strike shook Yuu to the core. Even as the few mana droplets the hooded figure didn’t absorb reshaped into the sword inside its sheath, she could only look on, reactionless, as the wurm razed everything in its path.

Was this the extent of her power?
Power meant everything to her. It was the reason she forsook her clan and dedicated years learning to weave her own magic by combining the Illusion school of the Soratami with the Geist magic from Innistrad. To have one single creature be able to destroy so easily one of her most powerful spells… t simply left her speechless…

Only for her rage to flare up and overtake her entirely. This beast thought it could tame her flames? Well let it rot and writhe in the pain of its own foolish ignorance! Yuu forcefully called on all the red mana she could grasp from this land and flew off against her target. With all the violent grace of a thunderbolt she struck down explosion all over its metallic skin, making sure her blade’s vengeance was not forsaken over long range fire balls. She alternated between her legendary sword and her just as powerful fire, swirling around the snake faster than the wind could carry her; truly untouchable.

When the Tornado, formed from absorbing her own power, approached her, she embraced it. She flew right to its center where she channeled magic she’d forbid herself from using: her clan’s Soratami landscaping. Creatures that live in the clouds, whose power can change the very surface, had no trouble taming hurricanes, let alone tornados. In the tumultuous core she spun uncontrollably; she dared not fight it, she knew it would be a waste of her energy. Instead, she used the speed and momentum of the tornado to empower her own dance, releasing her blood mist and letting it contaminate the wind. Within seconds, her power made up most of the tornado, yet she still could not divert its trajectory. If anything, she had been caught inside a storm she created. The other walkers would likely still be caught in its path, but Yuu cared nothing of this.

Once the Tornado touched the beach’s sand, the winds changed. The centrifugal force weakened only so slightly, but it was enough. Yuu projected her own power vertically, in a pillar of red light. The tornado, made of her own magic, channeled with this force and shot upwards as well. Soon, the swirling winds dissipated and coalesced into Yuu’s own pyroclastic pillar, which was promptly absorbed back by her, or simply scattered through the land.

When she rejoined the others, her drive for battle satiated for now, she was sad to see the battle was ending. She could faintly make out the dark angel fighting with a hooded creature, its four arms the only trait she could identify, shortly before the careless hot-headed burning human shot forth what could only be described as several volcanic eruptions worth of power right at the creature. Once again she felt the unfamiliar sensation of self-doubt and even humility, but those emotions were so fleeting one should doubt she even realized them creeping in her soul.

“Yet another Planeswalker?” spoke out Gibrael, who had restricted himself to erecting shields and bouncing back the monster’s lunges throughout the fight. “I had never even met another one of my kind until this very day.”

This day’s events were having a big effect on the novice priest. He was most likely the youngest from the bunch, at least from what he could see, and also the most surprised and inexperienced. While he watched the others fight, he gasped at the amount of power at their grasp. It made him realize how much broader his horizons could be, and how much he had yet to learn. The command of powers as tremendous as those he’d seen were beyond his reach. He doubted that he had a chance of winning a fight with, among others, Jareth, the powerful cat beastman, even if he adopted his other visage.

Yet, somehow, he didn’t feel intimidated or even diminished. If anything, this realization only brought him more strength. After all, he’d just seen a Planeswalker’s limitations are virtually non-existent. He tried to take note of the back and forth going on between the more outspoken members, taking this opportunity to study their personalities. However, one particular comment irritated him:

"Oh, and we're all just gonna defer to you? Mr. Fearless Leader Cat?" shouted the restless pyromancer. "I don't see what this has to do with any of us. We got caught up in the rush, that's all. There's a billion different planes out there. What business do we have running around and sticking our noses in other people's business?"

“It has everything to do about us!” he shouted back.

“Why else would the planes be connected to no one but us? Do you believe this gift of ours was nothing more than a drunken amusement of some bored deity? Do you fool yourself into believing you created that power, because you’re –oh, so special? Or perhaps you justify it as an act of chance, fortune’s random blessing?”

He’d hoped his words had any effect on the volatile walker, but all dramatic effect was cut short by Rckaird’s interference. He watched them cautiously, for he knew that her type were not one to surrender to their elder’s wisdom. Or authority.


“Planeswalkers are supposed to help save the planes. Our horizons are ever growing, specifically so that we can fight dangers those limited by their planes reality can’t even fathom. If one of us, being given such a gift, chose to abuse it... I shudder just thinking of how much evil they could create.”

His speech was cut short, again, by the archon and the pyromancer. Could you believe the girl actually attacked him, simply because she was insulted by his touch? Granted, the Archon’s reaction only served to escalate the confrontation. This needed to be stopped before it derailed into something much more serious.

“End this now!”

Gibrael positioned himself between the archon and the ball of water forming around the girl, invisible shields already cast; while this had to be stopped, he actually feared for his life for getting in the way of these two forces. What the flame-witch had done to that wurm... It was nothing he wished to see again.

“We are not here to fight amongst ourselves. Now release her or I’ll have to do it myself.”
He raised a hand at the sphere of water trying to encase Claire, white mana strings flowing from the sands, coiling around the robes and merging between his fingers. Gibrael’s message was delivered while he looked at the archon’s... eyes? Under his hood. Such a vision made it hard to even concentrate, and Gibrael was sure he had dropped his strong facade and let a glimmer of fear and anxiety escape from his eyes once or twice. But his resolve was strong and quickly drowned such fears and doubts.

 

[storymasterb]

(To be fair here, Rimuel's not going to see this as anything but a vicious murder attempt, and Morgana doesn't like archons.

EDIT: Bleh, ninjaed)

"Hey!" Rimuel bellowed, ignoring Gibrael's intervention and surging at the archon. He called flames from the searing crimson of the red mana and let them loose, hurling a fireball at Rckaird. "You're going to kill her!"

"Idiot," Morgana muttered. She couldn't decide who she was referring to more. Rckaird for being so bluntly stupid, Claire for deciding the best reaction was to try and chop an archon's hand off, or Rimuel for charging and attacking said archon. About the only sensible person here seemed to be Gibrael. If the entire group kept infighting like this, they wouldn't survive each other, let alone their mysterious enemy. The black knight scowled. Idiots.

Rimuel rammed the archon with a shoulder-rush. "Stop it!" He drew back a gauntleted fist and socked the armored figure in the face... or whatever archons had there. "What the hell do you think you're doing?!"

As Rimuel continued to yell at the archon, Morgana acted. She stepped forward and called blue magic from the mana twisting out of sight. Touching a hand to Rimuel's watery prison, she unleashed treachery and rebellion into the archon's magic, loosening his bond on the forces he had created, releasing them from his command. And she turned them back on him.

The prison snapped, the bubble shattering around Claire. Compelled by Morgana's deviously tricky counterspell, an art she had devised after experiencing the wild mana of Zendikar, the water reversed and shot back, twisting around Gibrael, then slamming into Rckaird and drenching the archon. Morgana turned and glared at the golden-armored figure past the white-clad cleric.

"If you're quite done trying to kill an ally who fought beside you," she said frostily. "Oh. I remember. You didn't fight. You stood back and watched." The knight turned away. "If we can stop the petty squabbles and get back to the issue of the person who tried to kill the lot of us, now." She stalked back to stand near Jareth, expression cold and hard. Idiots.

 

[GoldenHouou]

OOC: Heh, no worries storymasterb, I find all this clashing of values and points of views fun.

--

Dominaria
Madra, The Talon Gates

“End this now!”

Out of nowhere, the priest from earlier positioned himself between Rckaird and the bubble keeping Claire prisoner. The foolish youth dared utter an order; release the girl, or watch as he does it himself. That was simply outrageous. A lowly priest trying to command the Judge himself? It was clear from his earlier actions that he thought too high of himself, but this was bordering on heresy. Was the man not aware that he was the embodiment of everything a priest should serve; law, order, goodness, justice and purity. And now, one of the very priests who should bend their knee at the very first glimpse of his golden glow was questioning his actions, his motives? Inconceivable.

White mana strings flowed from the sand at the priest’s command, and it was clear he was not afraid to use white mana against him. Yet another unacceptable act. He was using white mana, the power meant to bring order to keep him from calming the child of chaos? The boy apparently required something to open his eyes and make him realize there would be consequences to such actions. Gshir was more than happy to be that eye opening experience, instantly pouncing on the youth with claws extended. It did not seek to kill nor even harm; it would push the man on his back with its weight, dig its claws into the sand on both sides of his head and stare him down, fangs capable of breaking bone exposed for the boy to see. And then, once the man could practically feel death embracing him, the lion would move aside in a display of mercy. Maybe then, after looking in the eyes of the manifestation of the Judge’s wrath he would realize what he was challenging. It was apparent the man felt fear already; so much was clear in his eyes. Curious, how the man was intelligent enough to fear, yet not intelligent enough to stay his hand at the sight of his superiors. But perhaps he had a chance yet to make amends; he hoped Gshir would guide him in that.

Just then, from among the Planeswalkers another emerged to intervene; it was the Mirran knight, another one he had considered servant of good.

"Hey! You're going to kill her!" The knight bellowed. Unsightly. He formed a fireball and slung it at Rckaird. Even more fire? The archon found the choice of attack amusing at best. He raised his hand higher, the water that had been healing his hand bursting forth to meet the attack, extinguishing the red hot sphere and producing a cloud of steam. And from within that cloud charged the knight, ramming into him shoulder first. The momentum and small area of impact gave the man’s attack power, so even his form wasn’t exactly ideal for ramming a steel-clad archon head on, his attack did force Rckaird a few steps back. But what actually felt was his next blow; a powerful punch to his head. The archon turned the side of his face to the attack, the gauntlet smashing against his helmet-like hood and drawing out a loud, hollow clanking sound. The man kept screaming at him, and for a while Rckaird just stood there, his face turned from the knight. Unlike the priest, this one had actually attempted physical harm to him. It was clear, then, that like the fiery woman, this one needed a little lesson taught to him as well.

A lesson of pain, of fear.

Rckaird grabbed the man’s wrist, finally turning his head to look him in the eye. Water from the woman’s prison deviated a little from its path and moved to wrap around the archon’s arm like a snake, spiraling forth and continuing its coiling around the knight’s arm, headed towards his mouth, its intention to force its way into his throat, his lungs. It would not kill; just deliver an unpleasant, choking sensation. A near-death experience, if you will.

Rckaird let go of the man’s hand, and just then he felt himself lose control of the rest of the water making up Claire’s prison. It was a weird sensation and he did not like it. Losing control meant losing order. Chaos.

He turned his gaze to where the bubble was or rather, where it had been; it had burst now, the water used in forming it now rushing towards him, not heeding his orders.

What was this?

The water hit him, effectively soaking him and the knight close to him. It did not show, but Rckaird was a bit taken aback as he eyed the culprit; another knight, this time a woman, stood near the scene, glaring at him.

"If you're quite done trying to kill an ally who fought beside you," she said frostily. "Oh. I remember. You didn't fight. You stood back and watched." The knight turned away. "If we can stop the petty squabbles and get back to the issue of the person who tried to kill the lot of us, now."

The woman didn’t seem to understand the situation, didn’t seem able to grasp the reasons behind his actions. It would appear this was true for the others as well. Very well. If the situation truly called for it…

Rckaird let go of the remaining water he controlled, turning to the woman. And it was then that Rckaird did the unthinkable.

He spoke.

“A group without discipline is naught a gathering of fools, destroying that which they try to create,” he began in a voice that didn’t quite seem to come from this world. It was cold, hollow and followed by a distorted echo, as if his voice traveled from another dimension, as if it came from beyond death. “As long as chaos breeds in our midst, we can wish not to bring salvation. It is my duty to bring order…” He turned to look at Claire, lowering his voice just a bit as he continued: “…to force change upon those that would inflame the chaos."

He turned back to the female knight and finished: "All for the Greater Good.”

With that he withdrew back into silence, standing still like a mountain and waiting for the next act of the fiery woman. Should she still be ready to continue the fight, he would not stay his hand either. Yet, should she have learned manners, he would not harm her any longer. He, too, would rather they figured out the reason for their arrival and the identity of the assassin after them.

Gshir, already having let go of the priest, walked next to its master and sat down, its glare fixed on Claire, tail whipping about in annoyance.

 

[Kamotz]

“As long as chaos breeds in our midst, we can wish not to bring salvation. It is my duty to bring order, to force change upon those that would inflame the chaos. All for the Greater Good."

"That chaos is called 'free will'," said Jareth. Perhaps it was wiser to ask the archon to leave. He was already the center of so much violence and animosity. "If you seek the eradication of that, you will find no foothold among the living, for it defies the very nature of living beings."

"Perhaps New Phyrexia would be a better place for the archon then? Unified will, unified order and purpose. Seems like a good fit." Lance laughed, flicking dust from his coat. "Either that, or become a necromancer, and impose your will upon all the dead you want." He chuckled. "Or make the living into the dead and impose your will upon them then. You have oh-so many options. And you'd likely make a wonderful stitcher."

It was then that Claire's throat cleared and her anger came roaring back.

"You arrogant, self-righteous tyrant!" Claire snarled. She threw her arms to the side, and the bedrock ripped upwards. Two huge stone arms and fists tore through the sand. The first grabbed Rckaird, crushing him in its stony grip before flinging him violently into the palm of the second, which caught him as the first drove a horse-sized fist into him. Then the second tossed him in the air, grabbed him by his flailing leg, and slammed him to the ground.

Claire leaped through the air and landed atop the archon. "You don't get to tell me what to do, monster. I don't belong to you. I don't belong to anyone." She pointed angrily.

"Oh, I'm sensing some deeper issues here," Lance mused, still watching with that same bored expression. Well...not so much bored. Very entertained, but not overly concerned.

"Don't you ever forget that," Claire shouted. "I am an Izzet League guildmage, an artificer, an elementalist. If you think I'm afraid of a little water or can't protect my mind from your little tricks you've got another thing coming." She stood up, power coalescing between her fingers and dancing across her form. "If you ever try to violate me like that I'll make sure you never Planeswalk again." She smirked, she'd seen it done before; knew how to do it too. Though she didn't tell him. "Then I'll break your mind into so many pieces that even Niv-Mizzet would take a thousand years to put you back together."

She stepped back and backed away. Then turned and fixed Gshir with a glare. "And tell your pet to keep his claws to himself. Or I'll cook him and eat him." She smirked. "I hear Mizzet has a weakness for fried wings."

Lance chuckled.

"While I can't condone the eating of lions," Jareth spoke up, his voice deep and rumbling. "It would be better for us all if you two did not speak to one another further." He turned to Rckaird. "And perhaps you would do best not to speak further of subjugating the free wills of others through force. For I doubt you'll find many sympathizers here, or anywhere else."

"If tinsel-town and his little kitty over here can keep their grubby paws to themselves and keep from violating the laws of nature with their self-indulgent narcissism, then yeah, I'll be fine," Claire snapped. She glanced over to Jareth. "I think I'm gonna like you, Big Cat. I still don't think this is any of our business. Maybe that orochi just has a personal grudge against one of you." She glared pointedly at Rckaird. "Maybe someone mind-raped snake-boy's best friend and he wanted to get back at him."

"Certainly possible," Lance said, his amused demeanor giving way to one much more cold and calculating. "But why attack the rest of us. I've certainly not spent enough time on Kamigawa to have wronged an orochi. Even one as well-versed in extra-planar magics as this. Summoning surrakar from Zendikar, and a slagwurm from New Phyrexia."

"Mirrodin," Jareth corrected quickly, looking sympathetically over to Rimuel. "It is still Mirrodin as long as there are still Mirrans willing to fight."

"I believe you'll find the vast majority of the plane in disagreement," Lance pointed out--though not maliciously. "Who's to say who a plane belongs to and what it's called if not its inhabitants?"

"Inhabitants with no will of their own, forced by violence to convert, skinned alive and flesh rendered into the monstrosity that is New Phyrexia," Jareth growled.

"Careful now," Lance said, his amused smirk slicing its way back across his features. He glanced to Rckaird. "You'll get the archon all aroused with that kind of talk." His demeanor changed again, eyes flashing dark as he rolled his shoulders back. "Regardless of what you call it, this orochi 'walker was skilled enough to keep ten others at bay. It at least warrants a cursory looking-into."

"And we're perhaps the only ones capable of doing so," Jareth mused, his voice rumbling deep.

"I still say it's none of our business," Claire muttered. "Going out of our way to get involved will only cause bigger problems down the line. At our best, Planeswalkers are impartial. At our worst, we're meddling tyrants." Again she glanced to Rckaird, though she didn't make a display of it this time.

"Anyone can become a Planeswalker," she said to Gibrael. "Anyone. Doesn't matter how good you are or how twisted you are. And power like this just amplifies whatever you had before. Good or twisted, having this power only makes you more-so. There's nothing special about us. It's just random, stupid luck. We're born one-in-a-million. And only one-in-a-million of those one-in-a-millions actually ascends.

"And this power isn't limited to just 'walkers," Claire continued. "Or have you never met an Eldrazi before? Who's to say that's not we're supposed to be like?"

"Because I think we can all agree that bifurcated arms and floating tentacles would do none of us any favors," Lance deadpanned. He smirked and glanced at Rckaird. "Although they could fit nicely with the mind-rape motif you have going."

"Is that where you stand then, Claire?" Jareth asked, glancing down at the young woman.

"No, I'm curious as hell," Claire said back, smirking. "But I just want you all to recognize that when everything around us is going to hell, I was the first to say 'I told you so'."

 

[storymasterb]

"The leonin is right," Rimuel said, freed of Rckaird's spell by a discreet counterspell from Morgana. "That abomination called New Phyrexia is not the plane I come from. Mirrodin exists so long as just one Mirran stands in defiance of those monsters. And last time I checked, I still refused to acknowledge my home as lost for all time."

"As for your opinion," Morgana said to Claire. "Luck may or may not have touched us all and made us what we are. However, those with power have responsibility to the powerless. You say the best of us are impartial. Perhaps the best of us are those who use this gift to fight tyranny and evil." She considered. "The worst of us on the other hand would indeed be those who used such power to dominate and rule in tyranny. I have met such people before." She recalled the words.

"Despair to the powerless, and glory to those with the power."

"This Orochi must have had some motive for his actions," Rimuel considered. "And indeed, perhaps we are the only people capable of discovering just what that was. If it is sinister, then we can put a stop to it." He considered his abilities. His powers weren't normally of summoning. He could perhaps call forth a small group of Mirran soldiers if he were to put his mind to it, and bring forth his memories of the comrades with whom he had fought New Phyrexia. But it seemed cruel to bring forth images of his dead comrades, merely to serve him in battle. That was why he had never done so. His power was of cleansing, of destruction and purification. Fire and light, searing away shadow and blackness.

"Either way, as much as we don't agree with the archon's ideals nor his methods," Morgana said. "He is at least right about one thing. If we intend to chase down this Orochi, we cannot do so if we're at each others' throats every few minutes. I suggest we at least try to get along if we're going to work together." She paused. "If that is sorted, then we might want to consider some starting points. Places we can go and look for answers or clues."

 

[niedude]

Before Gibrael could even hope to soothe the situation, Gshir pounced on him. Or tried to, at least. The sheer size of this beast alone was not enough to break Gibrael's pre-established shields, though it did strain them considerably. While others took to fight to Rckaird and escalated this conflict to heights Gibrael did not antecipate, the priest himself got wrapped in a struggle of shield versus huge, ferocious beast.

For a moment, he though about extending spikes or blades from the surface of the shield (his usual tactic when in such a position) but refused to, unwilling to instigate yet more hostility. He just waited untill the beast calmed down and backed off to his master. Which happened shortly before Claire began playing around with Rckaird, throwing him between two giant, stone hands she'd made herself.

The amount of stamina and power Claire continued to show humbled Gibrael, and actually humiliated Yuu a bit further. It made her feel weak, powerless... Her desire for power grew tremendously.

Just then, Jareth brought something up that caught Gibrael's interest:

"Inhabitants with no will of their own, forced by violence to convert, skinned alive and flesh rendered into the monstrosity that is New Phyrexia," Jareth explained.

"What manner of hell is this New Phyrexia? Do you not exagerate? Are such acts really being played out?" Gibrael spoke out, shocked at the idea of such an evil plane. A world such as that sounded much worse than Innistrad, and surely needed his aid that much more.

Yuu, on the other hand, paid no mind to Rckaird's silly high and mightyness, nor to the tales of new Phyrexia (she'd swear she'd been there for a day or two anyway, but she couldn't exactly recall.) She just wanted, pure and simply, revenge.

"You mean to tell me some snake tribe actually had the audacity of attacking my clan's dragon? I WILL RIP HIS SCALES OFF ONE BY ONE AND MAKE A SOUP OF HIS ENTRAILS!"

 

[storymasterb]

"What manner of hell is this New Phyrexia? Do you not exagerate? Are such acts really being played out?" Gibrael spoke out, shocked at the idea of such an evil plane. A world such as that sounded much worse than Innistrad, and surely needed his aid that much more.

"He doesn't exagerate," Rimuel said quietly. "My home, Mirrodin, was a plane of great beauty and wonder. Beings of metal and flesh, united in their own balance. It was a harsh place, true, but a great one." His expression darkened. "And then they came. Phyrexians. Nightmares crawling from the depths, killing, conquering. They took the people and creatures of Mirrodin and flayed them, tearing away flesh and making them into monsters. I and my comrades fought Phyrexia, but with every passing day we lost more and more. In the end... we couldn't prevail. The Phyrexians dominated my home and made it a nightmarish mockery of its former glory. Horrors of flesh and metal shambling through the plains and forests, soaring in the skies. Twisted experiments performed by their scientists, nightmare predators created by their engineering. And their black oil, which corrupts all it touches."

"I have heard of the Phyrexians," Morgana said. "They despise flesh, and worship machines. To that end those who follow the twisted ideals of Phyrexia flay their flesh and replace it with metal. Until that's left is a merciless machine designed to inflict pain and kill. They," she gestured to Jareth and Rimuel, "do not exagerate, cleric. I have been to Mirrodin recently, and I fought alongside the surviving Mirrans. New Phyrexia exists, and it is as nightmarish as Rimuel says." She paused. "But if you would go there with the intention of healing, you're a fool. The Phyrexians don't merely flay one's flesh and replace it with metal. They corrupt the mind and twist it to their purposes, breaking you until all you are is a cog in their machine, dedicated to the 'glory' of Phyrexia. You will find no Phyrexian who accepts your healing. To them, their condition is a blessing."

"The only way to bring salvation to New Phyrexia is to purge it utterly," Rimuel muttered. "That is my dream. To see that twisted nightmare burned to ruin and obliterated. For every last one of my fellow Mirrans who Phyrexia twisted and corrupted to know the peace of death. And for Mirrodin to be as it once was."

 

[Gentleman Skeleton]

OOC: Whew, go to a con for a weekend and end up thrown completely off. Permit me then to try this again.

Kingdom of Madara, Ruined Village

Thamien finally found the trading post he was looking for, the ruins of a long destroyed village were the perfect place to hide a trading post catered for the Hands of Bolas that passed in and out of the Talon Gates. He was pushed aside during the wurm fight and he figured he'd have some time while they fought amongst themselves to get his primary task on Dominaria finished. The seemingly empty building was full of life when he stepped through its threshold. As he stood in front of the front desk, he placed a sack of coins in front of the man seated at it.

"I'd like this converted to Ravnican, please." The Human looked inside the sack wide-eyed. "I have the feeling I'll be doing quite a bit of traveling."

"One moment, sir." The man left his desk, heading toward a vault in the back of the building. A few moments later, he emerged from the vault carrying another sack full of gold coins. This one seemed much smaller than the one Thamien gave him. Thamien looked inside, and was not pleased.

"Hey! This is half the exchange rate!"

"Handling fees. Don't like it, there's the door."

"You didn't even look in the sack or weigh it."

"Fine, fine." The man took the sack back to the vault and a few moments later returned with a larger sack. It still wasn't perfect, but he was willing to accept the amount.

"Thank you." Thamien picked up and left, dropping a pair of Dominarian coins on the desk.

Kingdom of Madara, Talon Gates

When Thamien returned, things seemed a bit more civil. Conversation had shifted from arguing about each other's fighting styles to figuring out who attacked them. He overheard the word Orochi leave the lips of the other walkers. Thamien was not aware of any member of the Kamigawan Snakefolk being a Planeswalker, but their wisdom and agility would make them an annoying enemy. One thought couldn't escape his mind, if a gathering of Planeswalkers garnered this level of attention, someone was afraid. They may be in a position of strength, something he thought he could exploit. He overheard a conversation, something about New Phyrexia.

"The only way to bring salvation to New Phyrexia is to purge it utterly," Rimuel muttered. "That is my dream. To see that twisted nightmare burned to ruin and obliterated. For every last one of my fellow Mirrans who Phyrexia twisted and corrupted to know the peace of death. And for Mirrodin to be as it once was."

"You'd best give up on that dream," Thamien called out. "Mirrodin is lost, a blight on the Multiverse. The only way to end Phyrexian corruption is to destroy the plane down to the last scrap of ichor-infested metal. It will never be as it once was, Phyrexia scars too deep."

 

[storymasterb]

"You'd best give up on that dream," Thamien called out. "Mirrodin is lost, a blight on the Multiverse. The only way to end Phyrexian corruption is to destroy the plane down to the last scrap of ichor-infested metal. It will never be as it once was, Phyrexia scars too deep."

"Mirrodin is not the blight," Rimuel snapped in retort. "Phyrexia is the blight. And any sickness can be cured. One day, I will return to my home at the head of an army, and I will see New Phyrexia destroyed. All I need is the magic, or relic which can bring those allies to Mirrodin with me. Once I have that, I will assemble the worlds against the corruption... and then, with their power, I'll obliterate Phyrexia. I'll see that nightmare burn, and then I'll cleanse every last remnant of it from Mirrodin." He paused. "And then... with my people, I'll raise a new Mirrodin from the ashes, as beautiful and free as it once was."

Morgana looked at him. Perhaps it was understandable. But his dream was a hopeless one. She had heard nothing of any bridge between Planes besides the power of a Planeswalker. His quest was a mere dream, but at the same time, she could perhaps understand his burning desire.

"Perhaps one day when Mirrodin's suns shine on the grass and my people can once more walk free, I will find you and invite you to visit my home," Rimuel continued. "Just to show you how wrong you are. To show you that Phyrexia can be cleansed and Mirrodin healed."

"You fool," Morgana murmured. And yet, she couldn't help but consider, what if there were some way to achieve his dream? Having witnessed the horror of New Phyrexia, she would not weep to see it gone, indeed, if he found some way to bring the force of the planes crashing upon Phyrexia, she would stand with Rimuel.

Rimuel looked at the half-elf. "I have hope that my home can be saved. As long as I have that, I won't stop until I find a way to destroy New Phyrexia and free Mirrodin."

 

[niedude]

Talon Gates
Madra
Dominaria

"You'd best give up on that dream," Thamien called out. "Mirrodin is lost, a blight on the Multiverse. The only way to end Phyrexian corruption is to destroy the plane down to the last scrap of ichor-infested metal. It will never be as it once was, Phyrexia scars too deep.”

This attitude was something Gibrael could not condone. Fatalism? Lazyness? Failing to use the powers he possesses to change the wrongs only one such as he could fight?

“Unforgivable!” he shouted as he launched a blast of light Thamien’s way. He charged his beliefs and his anger in that light, planning on Thamien feeling what he felt the moment he cast it.

“Nothing, NOTHING, is done by giving up, and under no circumstances will I approve of such a creed! The Gods have given us life and power at a great burden, there are few sins greater than not honouring their sacrifice!”

With every word, Gibrael’s robe shone brighter, radiating white mana through the sand. Each pulse of energy spread his aura wider and wider, until everyone present could feel themselves being invaded by Gibrael’s feelings. In theory, this would do nothing but make them more reasonable to his cause, but such an indirect charge of his idealism would barely nudge the opinions of weak willed individuals. Strong willed individuals, particularly so Planeswalkers, should be harder to convince.

"Mirrodin is not the blight," Rimuel snapped in retort. "Phyrexia is the blight. And any sickness can be cured. One day, I will return to my home at the head of an army, and I will see New Phyrexia destroyed. All I need is the magic, or relic which can bring those allies to Mirrodin with me. Once I have that, I will assemble the worlds against the corruption... and then, with their power, I'll obliterate Phyrexia. I'll see that nightmare burn, and then I'll cleanse every last remnant of it from Mirrodin." He paused. "And then... with my people, I'll raise a new Mirrodin from the ashes, as beautiful and free as it once was."

"I have hope that my home can be saved. As long as I have that, I won't stop until I find a way to destroy New Phyrexia and free Mirrodin."

“And when that army marches, my friend,” Gabriel took a leap of faith, hoping he’d garnished Rimuel’s trust with his earlier interest in his plane’s dire, and put an understanding hand on his metallic shoulder. “You will have me riding right beside you.”

“As for you,” he threatened, looking directly in the half elf’s eyes. “You would do well to grow up and leave your egocentric view of reality.”

 

[Kamotz]

Jareth sprang forward with a roar. He grabbed Gibrael by the back of his head and pushed him to the ground. He turned a snarling eye towards Rckaird as well.

"I've had enough with the rampant subjugation of free will some of you seem to be showing," he snarled. He glared down at Gibrael. "For all your woeful cries, what you two do is no different from the actions of the Phyreixans." Jareth stepped back and let Gibrael rise. He'd made sure not to hit him hard, just enough to stun him and surprise him.

"The decision to use or not use one's power is made at the discretion of the one with the power. There is no fault in choosing not to use it," he continued. He turned to the group. "The no inherent responsibility of the powerful to use their power in a way you see fit."

"So the beast finally bares his fangs," Lance said with a smirk. He crossed his arms and walked over to Rimuel, patting the semi-metal man on the shoulder. "Don't be so hard on the demi-elf. He only referred to it as 'Mirrodin' so as not to upset yours and the leonin's delicate sensibilities." He left Rimuel and looked out over the water, towards the Talon Gates, then back inland.

"Truth be told, however, he's right," Lance continued, glancing over his shoulder. "There's not much hope for your former-Mirrodin. Unless you plan on violently and surgically un-grafting every being that has been compleated, and bleeding them of all the glistening oil that pumps through their bodies. And then of course you need to cut away all of New Phyrexia--I'm sorry--Mirrodin itself that has been infected. I'm not sure you have the surgical skill for that."

Lance chuckled and shook his head, full of condescension and pity and all the haughty arrogance of an angel-turned-Planeswalker. "No, what you'd end up doing is opening doorways for the Phyrexians to other planes and other worlds for them to spread their infection. And they will then invade the Multiverse as they tried to do here hundreds of years ago." He motioned to the expanse of Dominarian sky.

"You seem to know an awful lot about Phyrexia and this plane," Claire said, hand on her hip. She cocked her head to the side. She'd only seen the plane as Mirrodin, before the taint of Phyrexia had built to noticeable levels. It had actually been one of her favorite mining grounds; it was a world rich in artifacts and artifice, and she was always eager to find a new and useful trinket or bauble to bring back to the Izzet League.

Lance smirked at her display, finding it quite...enticing. "I make it my business to know things," he said. "Especially useful things about possibly dangerous things. And--not to speak to highly of myself--I always have a plan to deal with them."

"You have a plan to deal with New Phyrexia?" Jareth rumbled disbelievingly. He raised an eyebrow and stared down at the shorter man.

"It's still in the preliminary stages," Lance said, smirking (as usual). He cracked his knuckles. "But yes. I do. Throughout my travels I've discovered many things that require contingency plans. New Phyrexia being one of them."

"Care to share?" Jareth asked...rather forcefully.

"Oh, that would be a bit premature," Lance answered, waving him off dismissively. "And I doubt most of you have the stomach for it anyway." He glanced at Yuu from the corner of his eye. He remembered her display from earlier. "Well. Some of you might."

 

[storymasterb]

"I accept that to destroy New Phyrexia, I will have to sacrifice those the Phyrexians have compleated," Rimuel said. "That is the only salvation I can give them, I know that. As for cleansing the infection... I'll find a way. There must be a way to cleanse the places they have corrupted." Truth be told, he didn't like Lance's manner, all the pity and condescension. He didn't need pity. He was done with that.

"As for opening doorways for those nightmares to march through..." he shook his head. "I won't leave any alive to escape. They'll die first." He paused. "Though should you have some plan for dealing with New Phyrexia, perhaps you could share it with me so I know what you might do to my home plane?" He paused, realizing he was unaware of most of the names of his fellow Planeswalkers. "Also, who are you? All of you? If we might be travelling together for some time, it would be good for us to know one anothers' names."

Morgana was silent, out of focus. She clung to the edges of the group, examining the other Planeswalkers. Rckaird, cold, overbearing, fanatical in a dangerously chill way. Gibrael, naive, idealistic, holier-than-thou. Yuu, vicious, destructive and dangerous. Thamien, tricky, strange, and different. Lance, arrogant, condescending, and mysterious. Claire, fiery, aggressive and reckless. Jareth, calm, independent and seemingly wise. And Rimuel, noble, passionate and idealistic. They were a varied group, and judging by their interactions already, there were more than a few conflicting views and ideals. Still, if they were going to hunt down this mysterious Orochi, they would have to get along as best they could. It would be necessary.

She stood in silence, listening to the conversation and pondering.

 

[Kamotz]

Lance shook his head and rolled his eyes. "'Salvation,' you say. What salvation is there for those who don't want to be saved?" he asked mockingly. "The New Phyrexians are very happy with compleation. The whole plane is corrupted, down to its very foundations. Rumor has it that even the Planeswalker who created Mirrodin was not spared. That he himself spawned the New Phyrexians." Lance listened to the annoyed hiss of the Passenger, shivering up his spine. Too much talking, too much banter; not enough interest in these little mice. He'd stifle the pull of his other for now. There was something just so...amusing in playing with the little mice.

"The only way to 'cleanse' New Phyrexia, as you put it, is to...well...leave no trace of it behind," Lance lost his smirk, but his eyes danced with shadow and the hunger of the Passenger as it craned its metaphorical neck to lend its metaphorical ear to the new twist in the conversation. "Raze an entire plane, Auriok? Would you do that? Slaughter millions? What a tremendous monster you would become then. A legend across the multiverse: the man who kills worlds."

He felt the shiver of his Dark Passenger, the twist of delight that flooded through at the thought. "But be wary. All it takes is one drop of that Glistening Oil--carried on the underside of your boot, or a crinkle in your robes, or the edge of your blade--and it all begins again." He let out a chuckle, reluctant admiration for the persistence of the Phyrexians. "And the wakes you leave as you transport your armies to and from their world-razing task weaken the barriers between the planes. At best you damn one world. At worst, you consign the entire multiverse to a New Phyrexian fate."

Lance sighed. "Not very many good options. You should really find out more about your enemy before making grand soliloquies and impossible promises," he said.

"Though should you have some plan for dealing with New Phyrexia, perhaps you could share it with me so I know what you might do to my home plane?"

"It's not your home or your plane anymore though, is it?" Lance said, all traces of smirk gone. He shook his head and the smirk returned. "As I said before, divulging the preliminaries would be premature." He felt the Passenger shift and chuckle behind his eyes. "Suffice to say, I'll do what needs to be done to protect my interests." He glanced over to Rckaird and chuckled. "Or the 'Greater Good,' whichever helps you sleep at night."

"I am Jareth Wildsoul," the leonin introduced, humoring Rimuel's request and hoping to help steer the conversation from further unsavory topics...though he didn't hold out much hope. "Of Alara."

"Claire Mizzet," the pyromancer said with a resigned sigh and roll of her eyes. No reason, it seemed, to foster any further hostilities. He did try to help her, after all. "Of Zendikar, Ravnica, and Lorwyn."

"Can't choose one?" Lance quipped.

"Don't have to," Claire shot back with a playful smirk.

Lance chuckled and turned to Rimuel. "Lance, Fist of Goldnight, Herald of War, and so-on and so-forth." He waved his hand and mock-bowed, acknowledging full-well the ridiculousness. "Of Innistrad."

"Never would've guessed," Claire said dryly, with a smirk to match Lance's.

 

[GoldenHouou]

OOC: Really quick post, because I probably won’t be able to post later today. Sorry this is rushed. And God the swear filter. I abused it.

--

Dominaria
Madra, The Talon Gates

Rckaird was lying on his back, pondering the words of the woman and only partially listening to the conversation going on. He was truly baffled over the ignorance of everyone he had heard speak. The woman’s ramblings about “owning her” made not a single speck of sense. He did not try to own her – how conceited would one need be to think he was reprimanding her for a perverted reason such as that? But he had already established her naivety and mental instability – that was the exact reason he needed to render her unable to hurt anyone else. But the words of the others, particularly the lion he had held some respect for just some minutes prior surprised him. The man spoke of free will like his actions would have been a danger to it, but the archon saw no connection between calming a raging rebel and respecting one’s ability to make their own choices. Having the ability to choose did not excuse completely disregarding others and the good of everyone.

He rose to stand, once more not really listening to what was being talked about. From what he gathered, they talked about Mirrodin. Ah. He had been there a few times in his quest to bring order all over the Multiverse. He had not stayed for long, but he knew the crimes committed by the Phyrexians. They were in need of punishment as well. While they did bring order in a way, it was not their right to do so. Rckaird looked at the Mirran man who had attacked him earlier, content. It seemed he wasn’t out to attack him anymore, so either his magic had worked or he had come to his senses on his own. He could appreciate that. Meanwhile, the woman…

He raised his hand very slightly, his hood turned to her, ready to attack. But for some reason she seemed calm now, and for a while Rckaird pondered if he needed to attack her at all. That doubt was quickly dispersed however. Yes, he did need to; she might've seemed calm now, but who knows what would happen should she be allowed to walk around without proper cleansing. He needed to make sure she was calm and would remain that way. He was just about to form another offensive spell when all of a sudden, he caught sight of the priest attacking another member of their group, merely for his words. Unbelievable. He had truly strayed from the righteous path. The lionin interfered, and for a while Rckaird forgot about the woman in favor of walking towards the man now lying on the sand. He stopped in front of him and looked down on him from above with mild disgust. The man had used his powers, he had used white mana to try and control not only an innocent individual, but himself as well; he could feel disturbance, though only a very slight one, in the flow of his white mana. The insolence! This man was the one bending free will and for no reason at all. While he found the necromancer suspicious, his words did not warrant a cruel act like that. And even if it had, punishing him was not the job of a lowly priest.

“Know your place,” Rckaird’s voice rumbled as he reached for the hilt of his sword. Yes, his sword, weapon meant for killing, not for cleansing like his trident. The priest had attacked an innocent. That was worse than what the woman had done. He laid his hand on the hilt and continued, voice strict and cold: “It is not for a priest such as you to deliver punishment.”

He drew his sword partway from its hilt, and the second the blade came into view, light burst forward. Pulsating, burning light that wrapped around the archon and then shot forwards into the face of the priest, targeting his eyes.

“Perhaps in order to see clearly, to understand what it is that you serve…” He spoke from the midst of the light, not a single piece of armor visible as he sought to drill the light in the man's eyes. “You need see how blind you are first.”

Elsewhere, Thayshia stood with her arms crossed, the tips of her wings slightly aflame as she tapper her foot on the sand and observed. Annoyance shone from her petite features, and had anyone stood close enough, they would have heard her muttering to herself, irritated. For a while now, she had decided what to do about the fight. She wanted in; her blood burned to take part in that display of power. Standing around was getting pretty damn boring, and she was pissed anyway. Fighting always helped her let out some steam. Not to mention she could show those two arrogant bastards what real power was. There was but one problem…

She wasn’t really sure which one she should singe first. She couldn’t decide which one she hated more; the prick or the skank. Thayshia weighed her options but as she did, she involuntary overheard all the talk about Mirrodin or new Phyrexia or whatever. Seemed like one of the people was there (as if that much hadn’t been clear from his appearance from the start) and was bent on saving his home. Respectable goal, but… it pissed her off. The way he talked about it, he sounded like a kid wishing great fortune when he grew up without actually doing anything. And many of the others seemed to be flat out telling him it was impossible, at least that’s she gathered from listening to part of it. At the moment, the conversation going on pissed her off more than the quarreling duo. So she took flight and flew there, just in time to hear him ask their names.

She flew closer and turned to the people who had spoke of Mirrodin as if it was unsalvageable. For the record, she didn’t particularly care whether it was or not – but hearing people shoot down someone’s goal like that…

“Geez, thanks for your definitely non-warranted input! I’m sure everyone’s feelin’ a lot smarter now,” She breathed, “Now if you’re done, I suggest shoveling the shit that came from your mouth back up your ass and backing off. Guy wants to save his home, what’s it to you? Nobody fucking cares if you think it’s useless. It’s a lot more useful than giving up without trying and throwing around fucking PITY like you’re all high and mighty and your opinion the absolute truth. Seriously, pull those sticks from your ass and try fighting with them once, you might actually be of some use somewhere!”

With that she turned to Rimuel and crossed her arms. “And as for you. You’ve got a dream to save your home? Great. Then what the everloving fuck are you doing here now? Go do something to reach that goal! Dreaming about it ain’t gonna change anything. ACT. You said you’d bring back an army with you? Then go fetch that army. Or hell, even better, become so strong YOU will be that army! Just do something. God it pisses me off when an adult man daydreams!” She pointed at her wings which now completely ablaze. “You know why my wings’re like that? You know why I’m not pretty and sparkly? I’m from Jund. Yeah, there are Fae in Jund. Well, were. Guess what they dreamed about? Being able to live there freely, without the fear of goblins and other such creatures three times bigger than the most of them. Yeah, they dreamed about it all day long and guess what? They’re dead now. All of them, while I’m here all alive and well. Know why? I didn’t settle to just dreaming.”

She calmed down a bit, but still eyed the man intensely, wings burning. “If you’re serious about this, then get serious. Show everyone. Show those arrogant little assholes.” She turned around, arms still crossed. “If you do, I might even allow you to hire me for help.” Then she recalled he had asked for names. Well, ask and ye shall receive... She turned to glance behind her back at the man, a self-confident grin in place. "I'm Thayshia by the way. The great shaman Thayshia. Better not forget that or I'll sear the skin off your ass!"

 

[Gentleman Skeleton]

The blast of white mana filled Thamien's head with the emotions of the spell's caster. Anger, conviction, a naive sense of justice. "Your bull-headed sense of justice will only lead to you getting yourself killed, and then what? I pride myself in knowing the final moments of the dead, so many of them felt the same way you do. Word of advice, selflessness and selfishness are cut from the same cloth. Fate suffers the same punishment to those who try to save a nation and those who try to destroy it. You can't swim against fate's current, but you can learn to get where you need to go by navigating its channels." Thamien removed his hat and brushed his hair with a switch-blade comb. "Might as well introduce myself. You can call me Thamien Holimion. I am the head of the Holimion crime syndicate on the plane of Cooperville. I am also one of the most skilled inter-planar couriers traversing the aether, and a pretty damn good necromancer to boot."

Thamien's attention turned to the rest of the group. "You mentioned our attacker was an Orochi, correct? Might I then propose a trip to Kamigawa? There are snakefolk on several planes, some even on my home plane of Cooperville, but there they are most populous and we might be able to find some clues. Jukai Forest would be a great place to start, but I also have a contact in Minamo. If there's an Orochi Planeswalker, we'll know about it."

 

[niedude]

Talon Gates
Madra
Dominaria

Before he could do much of anything, Gibrael felt a powerful force shove him face first into the ground. Judging by how powerful the blow was (he felt himself being shoved near effortlessly) he imagined this was the work of one of the oversized lions. Probably the quadruped one looking for some payback.

It came as a huge surprise to him when he saw it was Jareth who’d done it. The lion, one of the more respectable and level headed of the group, also reprimanded him, calling him out for obstructing one’s free will.

“Free will? Free will?! I would compromise no such thing! I am acting in accordance with it, I am preserving it! It is because people like me become the leash to hold evil and irresponsibility at bay that society has a whole is afforded the liberties they know! If there were no subjugators, it would only be so there was nothing to subjugate!

“You say I attacked him? I did no such thing! Do you see a wound in his body? The same light I blasted him was spread all over this beach. It has touched you! Did you feel your body come to harm? I only made my feelings tangible, so that even thickheads could not dismiss them!”

He sat up mid speech. Truth be told, maybe he did get a little too riled up; most who knew him would see the change in his normal attitude reflecting right down to his language. But these people were simply unbearable! How many of them closed their eyes and let such big issues go unchecked? At least some seemed to reflect his philosophy, if with different methods. Like the Archon; he’d seen how Claire’s irresponsibility could prove too dangerous to be left unchecked. It was a shame his “checking” apparently meant killing her; if it wasn’t for that rather extreme approach Gibrael would have supported him. The Archon, he...

He was standing right over him, slowly unsheathing his sword.

“Know your place.”

‘W-what?’

Gibrael looked right at the abysmal darkness under that unsettling hood, confused and unsure of what to think. When Rckaird’s blade began to shine in a light as powerful, or more so, than his own, Gibrael panicked.

‘What are you talking about? I’m doing the right thing! I’m punishing the wicked! You, of all people here, should understand me! Do you not share my wisdom? Are you not a sacred creature of the Gods?’

Gibrael shivered uncontrollably. He felt something terrifying overtake him... a painful memory. He felt like he was a young, innocent, powerless boy hiding in his barn, terrified at the incomprehensible destruction unfolding right in his eyes. Under the burning roof of the barn, blanketed by dried wheat, hidden behind the flames and smoke, he saw as his parents and his village burned. At one point, two ugly, foul smelling men dragged a near-dying woman he knew just barely and... did disgusting, foul, unmentionable things to her. Things he did not understand...

He did not understand this either. He could not wrap his head around the reason why... why a holy being would punish a priest for shepherding his flock.

“It is not for a priest such as you to deliver punishment.”

“If it’s not up to me...”

A thought overtook him. A new idea. A new philosophy.

“IT’S NOT UP TO ANYONE!”

Gibrael shouted his heresy from the midst of the all-engulfing light swallowing him. His own light was not enough to save him now, so he called on something more. The Dawn Elemental inside him stirred, and he released it.

“AND THIS WORLD WILL NOT GO UNJUDGED!”

Yet in his own form, but wielding close to his full power, Gibrael deflected the light and flew upwards. He stared down Rckaird as he shone in a light as bright and pure as the archon’s. This time, he was the one looking on disdainfully from above.

He’d made up his mind.
The archon is not who he claims to be.

Gibrael slowly descended. He landed beside Thaysha just as the pixie finished her speech.

“Leaving aside the choice of words, she is right. You, elf... Never give up, and never use your powerlessness as an excuse to succumb to dark urges and vices! We have the power to do something, remember it!”

He took a step closer to the fairy and gave her a smile, simple and happy.
“I think this one is the most wise of us all.”

Go figure.

“I tire of this infighting. My name is Gibrael Vons, and I hail from this very plane. From a continent far from the one we stand on, if you must know.”

He took a moment before proceeding. He wanted everyone’s spirit to calm down; everyone was too jumpy and irrational. Well, except for that angel over there, but he seemed like an odd one from the moment he arrived.

“So, does anyone have anything they feel like sharing? Anything at all?”


"I suppose I might as well. I'm Tsukiko Yuu, from Kamigawa. Now are we going to go after the guy who just humiliated us or what?"

 

[Kamotz]

“Geez, thanks for your definitely non-warranted input! I’m sure everyone’s feelin’ a lot smarter now,” She breathed, “Now if you’re done, I suggest shoveling the shit that came from your mouth back up your ass and backing off. Guy wants to save his home, what’s it to you? Nobody fucking cares if you think it’s useless. It’s a lot more useful than giving up without trying and throwing around fucking PITY like you’re all high and mighty and your opinion the absolute truth. Seriously, pull those sticks from your ass and try fighting with them once, you might actually be of some use somewhere!”

"I can't say much for fighting with sticks, but it would seem there are far more effective options. But I think that has been demonstrated quite clearly. Wouldn't you agree?" Lance said, eying Thay's little staff. "As for what his plan is to me? When said plan involves the weakening and dissolving of the barriers that keep New Phyrexia so nicely contained to a single plane, his plan should be of great concern to everyone."


Claire couldn't help but agree with him. But then the confrontation between Rckaird and Gibrael escalated, the two took on their glowing forms and howled holier-than-though slogans at one another. Idiots. They were arguing the same thing.

"Maybe the priest is an idiot," Claire snapped, glaring at Rckaird now that things had calmed slightly. "And you won't hear an argument from me; it's definitely not his place to punish anyone. But in your own words, it is not for an empty shell such as you to deliver justice and judgment." Claire crossed her arms and frowned. "You're both the same. I've known people like you all my life. All-too willing to forcefully impose your own sense of morality and superiority onto anyone who disagrees. All-too willing to take up the mantle of judge, jury, and executioner. Tyrants." She looked at Rckaird, then to Gibrael. "And Zealots. Blind to anything else but your own twistedness."

"If we could perhaps move on," Jareth said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He'd since given up any hope of trying to resolve the tension between the two fanatics. "There's the matter of this 'walker to attend to." He looked out toward the Talon Gates. "Perhaps we begin with Kamigawa, though I do not know how likely it would be he returned there. He was well-traveled, with knowledge of Zendikar and Mirrodin's inhabitants, and quite well-versed in power. He was able to bridge the Blind Eternities and transport a tribe of surrakar here." He looked over to Rimuel. It was exactly what the Mirran had been describing. "Those were not summoned beasts. They escaped rather than dissipated."

"So where to look?" Claire wondered, her brow furrowing. "Zendikar? Kamigawa? Mirrodin?" She wasn't eager to go back to Zendikar, not with the Eldrazi running rampant; or Mirrodin-turned-New Phyrexia, which had its own recently-discussed issues.

"Maybe none of the above?" Lance offered, stepping forward. Gone was the smirk and the arrogance. Just cold, calculating eyes.

"So where? You think he went to Alara or Ravnica maybe?" Claire wondered. It had been a while since she'd been there, and wouldn't mind consulting Niv-Mizzet. He might know what to do with the information she had...if he thought it worth his time. "Or maybe Innistrad? You eager to go home?"

"Innistrad and I have washed our hands of each other," Lance said dismissively. "But perhaps we do not need to go anywhere." He looked at her, and she was clearly confused. "If it was the orochi who called us, he called us here for a reason. If he only took advantage of the call...perhaps we should determine what caused it. Either way, Dominaria seems like an excellent place to begin looking."

 

[GoldenHouou]

OOC: Quick one, blergh finals.

---

Dominaria
Madra, The Talon Gates

Oh look. The idiots were fighting again.

Thayshia looked on with disdain and a hint of mocking amusement, fiddling with her hair as she supported herself in the air with a few well timed flaps of her wings. She grinned to herself devilishly, stifling a chuckle. She didn’t want to show it, but she actually enjoyed the fight a little. It was basically two holy assholes ducking it out over who was the holier and assholier one. Wasn’t that priceless. Well, not really ducking it out, seemed like the prick of a priest wasn’t interested. He descended next to Thayshia, and she instantly edged away. God, she didn’t want him near her. He said something about her being right and went on a short-lived spiel on how you never gave up and how dark urges were bad and blah blah. She wasn’t really listening until he actually got closer and she was forced to shoot a glare up at him.

What do you want? Why are you smiling like an idiot?!

“I think this one is the most wise of us all.”

“This one?” She breathed. “Stop talking like I’m some cute, small animal.”

He ignored her. She swore, if that tincan of an archon didn’t kill him, she would. After just insulting her again he went on to introduce himself like someone actually cared. And not soon after, the other guy Thayshia couldn’t stand opened his mouth and yet again the fairy was left wondering which one she hated the most.

"I can't say much for fighting with sticks, but it would seem there are far more effective options. But I think that has been demonstrated quite clearly. Wouldn't you agree? As for what his plan is to me? When said plan involves the weakening and dissolving of the barriers that keep New Phyrexia so nicely contained to a single plane, his plan should be of great concern to everyone."

She listened, not really understanding his little remark at the start and him glancing at her staff – was he trying to imply something? She was never good with indirect shit like this. If he wanted to say something, he should’ve just said it. God. Couldn’t be that difficult. Regardless, she turned to him and let out a laugh.

“Why should he care about some fucking barriers? His home is in danger. If you wanna make sure those barriers stay in place protecting your little coward asses, how about you go help him so he doesn’t have to rely on a plan that involves endangering them, hmm? Or what, are you scared of the Phyrexians?” She smirked. “Don’t worry, I think it’d be good if you got caught by a couple of them, personally. They could help mold your face into something a little more bearable, even!”

The conversation shifted to looking for the orochi and truth be told, that was a direction Thayshia liked. Now if only the stupid angel would’ve kept his yap shut. Well, at least he had a point.

“In that case, I suggest we split up,” she spat, determined. “While I’d love to watch some of you idiots rip each other apart –“ she gave a glance at Claire, Rckaird and Gibrael, and a hopeful one at Lance too, “ I don’t think that’s gonna get us anywhere.”

Meanwhile, Rckaird had been listening to Claire comparing him with Gibrael. The priest himself had seemed surprised over his actions as well. Did they both truly think he and a lowly priest were comparable? He was no tyrant, he was a beacon of hope to many a people suffering at the hands of the unjust. The ignorance the two displayed was overwhelming, but not knowing was no excuse to commit heresy. The priest needed be punished regardless.

So, without a second thought Rckaird walked over to the group and settled to standing behind Gibrael, his hand still at the hilt of his sword. The priest and the despicable hare woman had introduced themselves and Rckaird had realized that he actually had not. Could it be the priest didn’t realize who he was? Very well then, maybe giving his name would help him understand.

“Rckaird,” his voice rumbled as he unsheathed his sword, “Rckaird Ironclad.” He introduced himself, bringing his sword in front of Gibrael from behind, the side of the blade pressing against the man’s chest. He would not kill yet, but he would hurt. Hurt and hope his name helped bring some sense into the priest before he was forced to take his life.

“The Judge of the Multiverse,” he finished as he took a tighter grip and slashed a huge gash across the priest’s chest, blinding light engulfing the two and attempting to burrow its way into the priest’s wound. And from within the light Rckaird continued calmly, as if he hadn’t just cut up an ally, “And I approve of us splitting our group in favor of a more widespread search, however…” He paused slightly. “The priest will come with me.”

 

[Kamotz]

Lance laughed at Thay. "You're right. We should just invite the Phyrexians over. I'm sure they wouldn't mind having another chance at this plane." He looked at Rimuel and for a moment, something akin to pity flashed across his angled features. "His 'home' is beyond saving. There are how many? A few hundred? Maybe a few thousand surviving Mirrans? Surviving, of course, by the grace of a Praetor. There is no way to save Mirrodin. You can only stop New Phyrexia. And the best way to stop it, of course, is by limiting its chance to spread."

"Or what, are you scared of the Phyrexians?” She smirked. “Don’t worry, I think it’d be good if you got caught by a couple of them, personally. They could help mold your face into something a little more bearable, even!”

"Of course I'm afraid of them," Lance said, rolling his eyes. "You'd be a fool not to be. A single Praetor could wipe the floor with all ten of us, Planeswalkers or not." He chuckled, resting his wrist against the hilt of the Black Blade. "As for my face," he chuckled again. "I'm sorry to say, but the approval of little pixies is not something I strive--or even care--for."

Lance would have been content to acquiesce to the split of the group, if only to extract himself from the more bothersome individuals. He didn't see the point of two groups stumbling blindly through the Multiverse for clues, or how that was any better than one large group stumbling around, but at this point he didn't quite care for the company of priets, idealists, archons, or pixies. He, of course, would not mind at all the company of pyromancers and moonfolk, or Bantian knights; and could stomach the presence of leonin giants and half-elves.

He would have been perfectly content to simply let things be. Lance was an individual dedicated to the following of his whims. He did what he want, when he wanted to, because he wanted. And with the power afforded to him not much was out of reach. He was an advocate of following whims, in himself and others. He didn't insinuate himself into others' matters unless they concerned him directly, which is why he cared little for the priest's outbursts or the conflict between the archon and Claire (and everyone, for that matter). He would have preferred Claire accompany them, if she chose to, but that was for purely aesthetic reasons. If no one at all had decided to investigate the strange turn of events, Lance likely would have done so on his own, if only because his interest was piqued. And he would have followed the path until its end, or until he grew bored with it.

Indeed, he would have been content to simply sit back and watch the unfolding drama before him, were it not for the newly-introduced Rckaird's increasingly violent and self-righteous attacks on the priest and others. Lance had...issues with those who took claim to divine right and extorted its influence. He was--after all--still an angel, and still possessed something of an angel's sensibilities when it came to the matters of tyranny.

"A 'judge' you say?" Lance asked, smirk slashed across his features. "It's my understanding that a judge is an appointed position." He rubbed his chin in mock-contemplation. "Who then appointed you to this position?" he mocked. He pointed to Gshir. "I'm going to assume it was the lion, right?" He laughed again. "And either way you're just an archon," he said this full of condescension. "Then you realize, of course, that a judge only presides over the enforcement of the law and does not, in fact, apprehend suspects, determine guilt, or carry out punishment."

"And even a judge is not above the law," Jareth rumbled, stepping forward. He'd had just about enough of the archon, and would not stand to see him harm anyone further in his belligerence. "For it to be law, all must be beholden to it. And the only true law that can encompass something as large as the Multiverse is the law of nature."

"What's that? 'Survival of the fittest', 'kill or be killed', 'hunt or be hunted'?" Claire asked, scathingly. Lance watched her carefully; she simply seemed to hate people telling her what to do.

"No. Though in places where one must hunt and kill to survive, it is, of course, necessity," Jareth answered calmly. "Natural law governing sentients is simple; that thought, speech, and action be unrestricted until they infringe upon the thought, speech, and action of another."

"Oh," Claire said, anger gone. "Yeah. I can get behind that."

Lance stepped forward and spread his wings. "In case you're having trouble following, Your Honor," he said, chuckling low, lips spread in a thin smile, dark eyes flashing. "If it pleases the court, I'd like to present Exhibit A: everyone standing in opposition to you." He spread his arms out.

"And Exhibit B," Claire said with a smirk. "The door."

"You're free to stay or go," Jareth declared, his voice strong. He stepped forward until he was staring down at the archon. "But the priest will do and go as he pleases. And if you choose to stay, you will carry yourself in an appropriate manner. Have I made myself clear?"

"Your Honor," Lance added mockingly.