imperial_stage | Deathfire, Hope, and the Storm's Blade

Entry tags:

signum

Deathfire, Hope, and the Storm's Blade

Who: Garviel, Signum, and any snoopy watchers
What: The Holy Grail war continues
Where: Mount Death, otherwise known as Mount Deathfire in Ancient Belka
Warnings: ULTRAVIOLENCE. EXPLOSIONS. EXCESSIVE GAR. LONG SPEECHES.

The foot of Mount Death is an immensely complex series of lava tunnels and gate-like natural formations, entirely made from obsidian and other igneous materials. Loken's armor, freshly repainted and repaired by the Roman artificers marks him out as a white blot, dwarfed by the great gates behind him. Above them is mounted a huge skull, a draconic one from the times of the great Fire-drakes. A relic of the time when all of this land was Belkan, much as he was.

A breeze is the only thing that stirs the valley, vitrified lava floes halted forever in their motion. A dead place, where once the Circle of Fire burned in the breasts of the men who worked here, who fought the drakes, and who called Deathfire their great tribal home. Now, only ghosts remain, and bones. Empty vaults and quiet lava tubes, no more forges ringing, no more drakes roaring and clambering through fissures in the earth to hunt humans, fae, and in the lean times, even each other.

There is only the wind, which idly stirs the oaths of moment which have been freshly written onto parchments which are attached to Garviel's armored chest, stuck in place by wax seals. He waits for something, his face masked by his pugnacious-looking helm. He could be the last avatar of death in this place, a god of war that has burnt itself out, leaving only a single ivory playing piece to stride the battlefield.

He wonders if this was the right place to choose. So rich in the past stories of Belka, of the connection he shares with Archer. No.... he knows her name now, but he will not speak it, or even think it. Not yet. Not until she appears before him. So instead... he simply stands his silent vigil in the darkness. Hoping he can reach her, and find a way to end this war, once and for all. Perhaps he is doing this for too personal a reason, but he can no longer abide the thought of destroying one of the last remnants of Belka. It ends tonight. One way or another.

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Archer arrives, surprisingly on foot. Perhaps not too surprisingly, though, as she is again trying her hardest to rely on the mana reserves native to her class rather than causing a strain on Hayate. She knows she'll need as much of her magical strength as possible to defeat Berserker, so she has used her transportation magic sparingly.

She walks over the rocky ground, feeling the nature of the land through her feet. As a creature of magic and of fire, and as a person who had seen this mountain in its full glory, she feels...oddly nostalgic. This mountain was much like her, and all she'd known in her first life. Dead. Stopped. Power sleeping or chained or gone.

But still deadly.

The white-clad knight stops some twenty paces away from her opponent, looking directly at his helm, a smaller piece of ivory and rose compared to Berserker's bulk, but one just as ready to spring into battle. The wind in the valley whips her ponytail up and over her left shoulder as she draws her sword in salute.

"Berserker."

He returns the salute, his own similar, and yet different, ending with his right hand over his heart, still holding the blade aloft for a moment, before letting it fall back to his side.

Loken disengages his helm with his left hand, looking at her with gray eyes that match the clouds which shrouded this mountain before the sun set, momentarily squinting against the wind as little granules of sand scour both the surface of his face, and that of his armor.

"Archer. Or should I say... Signum, of the Wolkenritter. I would speak with you before we cross blades."

He pauses a moment, knowing she'll honor that much, and then continues, "When I was a boy in Cthonia, a mining city west of here, we were taught of the first knights of Belka, the Wolkenritter. They were noble beyond measure, a standard of honor which we all should aspire to. Even the little criminal gangs of our long-mined out city adhered to a strict code of brotherhood, even as we shed each other's blood. I had always found your role, your story, to be the best to aspire to. The other Knights had their places but... you seemed the most honorable of them all."

A brief hint of a smile passes over his face, "I shall confess. I had expected Signum to be of noble bearing, and unflinchingly potent in battle. I had not expected.... well, I hadn't even realized how achingly beautiful you were. All we had were old books, and the illuminated manuscripts that I read as an Astartes did not do you justice, not in the slightest."

He frowns, though, after a moment, and says, "It strikes me to be churlish to reveal your name, and then not give my own. I am Garviel Loken, former Captain of the 10th Company of the Luna Wolves, Knight-Errant of Malcador, the last of the Legiones Astartes of Belka."

"Your admiration...honors me," Signum replies, not sure at all how to respond to any of that, especially comments on her beauty. "I'm not sure all of it's relevant, but..."

Shortly, she gets her composure back, her feet gradually moving into a position of readiness on the sandy rocks.

"You are correct, of course. It's an honor to meet you, Sir Garviel," she replies formally. "I had narrowed your identity down to a few Belkans, but unfortunately the details of the Empire's eventual end are scarce in Dagarian libraries. I'm...happy that an honorable man such as yourself is a part of this Grail War."

She pauses, and takes a step forward. "You mistake me, however. Or rather, you mistake legend for reality. I am a soldier, first and foremost. My honor only exists as loyalty to my Master. For that, I have done...terrible things. Finding myself celebrated by anyone is..."

Archer trails off, memories of fire and blood the only ones she can find, prior to this life.

"I understand. In my loyalty to my blood-father Horus Lupercal I too have stained my hands. It was my greatest regret." He actually crosses to stand beside her, his blade held away from his body, obviously intending just to be near her, almost as if he is comforting her, for a moment. His own memories are much the same. Blood and fire, fire and blood. The Red God rising over Istvaan, the death of his brother Torgaddon, the betrayal of Abaddon, Aximand, and Horus himself. The flames that consumed the temple, and the falling rocks. His eyes close for a moment, halted by remembered pain. They open shortly thereafter, as Garviel remembers the oath he swore this evening, the one he has affixed to himself with yet another parchment. "Signum. If you do not wish to be admired for your legend, I understand. I shall continue to admire you, though, because of what you did whilst fighting with me against the demons summoned by Avshar. You earned all the praise in the world, standing against corruption. Fulfilling the ideal of what the Grail Warriors are supposed to be, instead of just the reality of a petty war between magi. We fulfilled the promise of the Thone of Heroes, in that moment. It was all worth it."

He lets that thought hang for a long time, before moving to the next one. "But look at your master now. Do you think she wants terrible things to happen? I mean... Hayate Yagami is all that is worthy and good in this world, something... someone we both want to protect. She is an innocent in the way few are. While I cannot simply cede the war to you, to be victorious in her name... I would know more of her, and see if I cannot assist her. She should never have been burdened with this, and she is obviously an irregular master, judging just from what she has told me, and what you have. She didn't join this war of her own free will, and I blanch at the idea of the consequences that could befall her, if Luca Blight.... or even Lancer got a hold of her."

"Hayate..."

Signum stops herself from speaking further. This opponent already knows far, far too much. About her, and about her Master. She stands more tensely when Berserker nears her - she can tell he won't attack, but the presence of this man still sets her on the defensive anyway.

"I...certainly agree with your assessment of her. That is why I'm willing and proud to fight for her," Archer says, looking away from the bigger knight. "But even if she were a monster, it's the chains of fate that determine our course. There's only one way for this War to end, and it is with the destruction of six Heroic Spirits."

The corners of her mouth do creep up in a small smile, though. "Lancer, however, won't be a threat to Hayate. I've seen to that. She is a fey, right?"

"Aye, that she is. Did you exact an oath from her? She holds to her word, if nothing else."

Garviel smiles back at her. He reflects with regret on the fact that they will share so few, over the course of this war, and then tries ti dismiss the thought, content just to hold eye contact for the moment, and find out how she has managed to thwart Lancer.

"'Swear that you won't cause harm to my Master, and I won't attack you or bar you from the Grail, should you defeat everyone else'," Signum repeats from those weeks ago. "I am admittedly counting on her running afoul of Rider or Saber or Caster or, well...should I lose here, you," she admits.

Loken nods, and says, "A good gamble, that. It might have already come to pass if it hadn't been for my interference some time back. I saved her from Rider as I found him a dishonorable bastard. I think... I think she considers herself as having owed me a favor. She is possessed of the gift of prophecy, and should you be the victor here, I advise you to speak to her about the nature of the Grail War, why there have been no victors.... and of the nature of your summoning."

He walks away from her, sliding his helmet back on, and bringing his sword to the ready, the teeth of the chainsword beginning to whir in their tracks.

"Let us begin. While speaking to you is very pleasant, and I don't wish to end things prematurely, we both know why we are here."

He walks back to the gate, seemingly a morsel about to be swallowed by the great drake-skull above him, standing at the ready to receive her attack.

Archer draws her own sword, taking a wide stance and holding both blade and scabbard in opposite grips. She's completely serious about this fight, and knows she'll have to give it her all to survive against the last of the Legiones Astartes.

She closes her eyes and speaks once more before she attacks.

"Garviel Loken. If I fall here...take what you've learned and make sure Hayate is alright," she asks, voice breaking just briefly in the dusty wind.

Loken blinks behind his helm, surprised by the slight break in his voice, and says, staunchly. "On my honor. I shall protect her and care for her in your stead."

He notices the blade and scabbard grip, taking hold of his own blade in a two-handed grasp to maximize his own not inconsiderable strength, and waits, watching her for the telltale tension that will indicate the battle is about to start in earnest, his chainblade on a low rotation, the low hum of the rotating teeth of the weapon almost musical in the wind-swept devastation of Mount Death.

Archer waits, staring at her opponent, taking in his stance, his grip, his armor, the oaths stuck to his body. Her eyes narrow, her grip on Laevatein tightens, and as the wind whips up once more, she begins her attack with a wordless battle cry.

"HA!"

Though she lunges forward, she does not charge. Instead, Laevatein whips out, snakelike, to strike at Berserker from a distance as she tries to take him by surprise.

Loken grunts with surprise. He was not aware of this ability of her sword, and is smashed back by the kinetic force of the flexible weapon, a deep rent torn across the front of his armor, from right shoulder pauldron to left hip, not quite breaching the heavy armor but tearing through the white finish, scarring and scorching it to the gunmetal gray which is the base color of unadorned plate. He doesn't hesitate, however, after the moment of being staggered, countering her assault with a short charge of his own, bringing his chainsword down in a two-handed swing towards Signum, testing her defensive capabilities, curious if she'll use her innate skill with a blade, or her magical shielding to stop his first attack.

Archer, for her part, is surprised in return about how fast her opponent can move in that heavy armor. She steps back as the heavy swing comes in, the chainsword deflected along the edge of Laevatein's scabbard - reinforced with a hasty shield spell just in case. She doesn't want to know what a direct hit with that blade will feel like.

Another pace back and she's collapsed Laevatein back into a sword, reversing momentum and striking at Berserker's helmet to try and drive him back. One of the very oldest great sword artists she may be, in some tellers' tales, but even she's at a disadvantage against Berserker's sheer power at close range.

Loken just barely manages a hasty parry as Signum comes in with Laevatein, the blades clashing and striking sparks as the adamantine teeth of the chainsword grind against the edge of the ancient blade of the Wolkenritter. He is forced back because of his extended stance, reverting to a more balanced stance a moment later, now standing 3 paces back and within the actual gates themselves, which makes for a certain natural, his armored form heaving with the nigh-frenzied rush of battle, pitting his own reserved nature and self-control against his nature as a servant, the Mad Enhancement teasing at the edges of his mind, and he consciously pushes the frenzy away, giving Signum a moment's opening as he visibly hesitates to step back into battle.

She takes the opportunity of his hesitation to leap backwards and upwards, engaging her magic to help her fly. Out of his reach - and once again extending Laevatein to its longer mode - Archer feels like she's got the battle much better in hand already. Still...

"Garviel Loken!" she shouts, wondering exactly what she's doing. "Fight me with everything you've got, or this is all pointless!"

Mentally shaking her head at not pressing an easy victory, she loads a Cartridge into Laevatein's hilt, the sword explosively expelling it.

"Laevatein, the fiery sword of destruction..." she intones. "Come forth, HIRYU ISSEN!"

Her limited mana from the 'Archer' class starts to flow into the chain-whip as she invokes a Noble Phantasm, joining the power of the Cartridge in catching the whole long blade on fire. Spinning it in a spiral, she generates an fiery vortex she aims directly toward where Garviel stands his ground in the gate.

Garviel is hammered by the force of the flames, armor scorched black in some areas, and send tumbling end over end, through the gates, which collapse inward after him, half-melted and torn from their hinges. A huge outpouring of black ash, shattered pyroclastic materials, and worked stone and metal accompany the brutal attack, obscuring the body of Berserker as they boil from the remains of the entrance.

There is no sound from within the halls of Deathfire for a long moment, and then, a star-shaped flame is accompanied by the coughing roar of his bolter, as Loken counters the flying archer with a barrage of mana-infused bolts from his weapon, explosive blasts hurtling from the weapon as expended cartridge cases eject from the blocky weapon. They are not nearly as individually powerful as Laevatein's attack, especially considering it is a noble phantasm, but the sheer volume of the bolt-storm makes it a formidable attack, coming from the darkened silhouette of Berserker.

Despite seeing him use that device before, Archer is unprepared for the volume of shots erupting out of the remains of her own firestorm. Unable to see the source to evade properly from the start, she focuses on forming a magic shield again, a floating purple magic circle blocking the first few bolts.

However, it quickly becomes clear to the knight that she's underestimated the amount of power Berserker's weapon is capable of throwing out as more bolts slam into the shield, cracking and finally shattering it. Archer is knocked back through the air with a yell as the remainder of the barrage hits her squarely, damaging her armor and knocking her off-balance in the sky.

Loken withdraws from the destroyed gates, the murky outline of his form disappearing entirely as he steps into the first gallery, a huge, long pillared expanse, with vaulted ceilings and torch-sconces, long since guttered out. He reloads his bolter with another magazine, and draws his chainsword with his off hand, waiting for Signum in the center of the gallery. His weapons are inferior, and even his strength as a Berserker is weaker, because of his rejection of mad enhancement. And yet.... The strength of the Astartes, his strength, is superb tactics, as well as overwhelming battle-prowess. Thus he has chosen Deathfire, where both the psychological aspects of the place will play on Signum, and the physical confines will make the far-more mobile Archer fight in a tight squeeze.

Archer, of course, knows this. While she's never claimed to be a great tactician, she's thought very hard about how to fight the large, landbound Berserker. Pursuing him inside - even if the mana flow of a dead volcano favors her own origin - was foolish.

Still, she had resources available that even one of her admirers couldn't know about. Face set with grim determination again as she regains her balance and lands, Archer draws a card out of her armor, holding it close to the scabbard in her left hand.

Cautiously and ready to dodge an ambush, she pursues Berserker into the ruins on foot.

Garviel waits for her, and as she moves in, he waits, making sure they both have a clear view of each other before he engages with a desultory burst of bolter rounds, aiming not for Signum but rather at the pillars around her, smashing off jagged, sharp rock fragments to create a razored storm of obsidian, trying to distract her for long enough to shoulder-rush her to the floor. He doesn't detect the card, and as such, may be about to get more than he bargained for by drawing her into the close quarters.

The knight spins and ducks away from the Bolter shots now that she's been blooded by them, but takes a vital second to realize what her opponent is doing. Once she does, she continues her dodging motion further into the gallery, armor and face scratched with minor, annoying obsidian cuts as she keeps the remains of pillars between them, trying to make him lose sight of her.

Once she's got some cover - and a few more cuts than she would have liked - Archer lashes out with Laevatein in fiery whip form again, trying to goad Garviel into pursuing her further into the volcano. He'd obviously prepared the battleground and lured her in, so her only option was to rush him.

She grips her card. To rush him, and to get him into point blank on her own terms.

The whip tears his helm clean off, burning his face badly as it scours across his pale flesh. He hisses in pain, and closes the distance. speaking as he does so. "I've only ever fought someone before like this once." He whirls his chainsword in a two-handed swing, bolter now maglocked at his side once more, having followed her into another gallery, this one framed by the huge, carved figures of Astartes warriors, bare-headed and in attitudes of eternal watchfulness, ebony images of Loken himself, the same powerful, bulky builds, but there is a more tribal aspect to their armor, these men were drake-hunters. Still, it matters little, as the last remnants of Belka duel ever closer to the inactive core of the volcano.

"Get used to it, if you're like me," Archer responds, continuing to back through the gallery. She considers another major attack, but no...she feels a source of power behind her. Berserker had chosen the battlefield, but he chose one that would benefit both of them. Instead of using her mana now, she mimics Garviel's previous tactic in a different dimension, whipping her chain along the ceiling of the carved cavern to drop rocks on the Astarte's head.

"This is the afterlife we were given, Garviel - one where there's only war," she continues, trying to, if not unnerve the warrior, then at least get him to face facts. Signum knows in her (imaginary, mana-constructed) heart that only despair lies this way, except for the people who can successfully seize the Grail's power.

She backpedals into the next chamber.

"You misunderstand me. You match me as Captain Nathaniel Garro once did. I think I shall end the fight as I did with him." He smiles to himself, since he knows she won't understand the reference, or his intent with it. The only one who knows is Levin, and he's not going to say anything.

Loken sees the rocks fall, raising his armored forearm to cover his head as the huge hunks hurtle towards the floor, pulling back somewhat to the doorway to a side gallery, his own armor and face scored by the stone shrapnel. "Nhhh."

He thumbs his chainsword to life once more, stepping back towards Signum for another close range exchange, and says, "I have always acknowledged there is only war. The question is our purpose."

He smiles, as he closes, his pale face wearing a mask of blood, making his stern, craggy features even more stark. "This is not my afterlife, Signum. I chose to become a part of this while still alive. This -is- my life. I chose to join my fate to the Grail so that I would be here when the world needed champions for humanity once more."

He steps in, thrusting with the chainsword. "It isn't in this battle that our purpose is served, Signum. Against Avshar, fighting those demons for the good of all the people in this world. THAT is our reason for existence, beyond service to our masters. We fight for them because we are similar to them, because we love them, but our purpose as Heroes is more than just a petty brawl between Magi."

Deathfire, Hope, and the Storm's Blade

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