lostcarnival | ⇨ GREYSOL

Entry tags:

⇨ GREYSOL

Who: Everyone!
When: Day 155 - Day 169
Where: Greysol
What: The carnival resumes its tour, this time heading to Greysol, a city tied deeply into the fabric of the multiverse. Here, everyone has an animal companion from birth that is the second half of their soul - and thanks to the Ringmaster, so do you. (Remember,

joysweeper is our guest event runner for this location, and location specific questions should go to them.)
Warnings: Individually marked!

THE CITY OF GREYSOL↴

The carnival arrives in a manicured park in the center of a big city that sprawls out along where the river reaches the ocean. It’s spring, early enough that nights are chilly, warm enough in the days that people and their souls savor the weather, and sometimes shelter together from the rain. Greysol was designed from the bottom up to accommodate the human-dæmon bond. Go out and see!

► THE SHAPE OF YOUR SOUL: The dæmon-forming spell kicks in at about four in the morning. Most characters will wake up with their souls in some small form, curled against them. Even if they were awake, they became dazed and unfocused while their souls were being drawn out of their bodies and have little memory of how it happened.

Until that evening every character's dæmon is able to change shapes, and children and some teens will continue to do so. Most will settle on their permanent forms by evening. Characters without dæmons will just look on, and the few who are thousand-pound bears have to handle being really big.

► IT’S GOOD TO SETTLE: Elaine Tavis Aracari, sixteen-year-old daughter of two actors and a moving pictures sensation herself, just ‘settled’ - her dæmon Tavis stopped changing shape - as a stunning blue peacock. Settling is a major coming of age milestone and celebrated as such in different ways all over the world. She and her family are throwing a massive party in the central park and inviting the public to join in! Enjoy easy access to free catering, live music and showings of moving pictures, and displays of mostly trivial magic. There are also form readers from across the country setting up booths, happy to accept a small fee to inspect your dæmon’s settled or most favored forms and tell you what they mean. Is there anything to these analyses? Eh, maybe, but they’re flattering and fun.

► WITCHING HOURS: Characters who are clearly witches for this event will often be assumed to be in town for a lover, and people, witches and not, may want to know who that is. Humans usually regard them with wary respect and interest. Real witches living with their human families or on business quickly suspect that something’s up, but without clear and present danger take a relaxed wait-and-see attitude. Wait for long enough and any possible decision will come around again, they believe.

There isn’t time to learn much witch magic, but witches, real and carnival-made, have an inherent power: the ability to fly using branches of “cloudpine”, an attractive soft-needled tree common in the park. Witches usually ride large branches as if they’re steeds but can use even short sprays, and you’ll probably see the few witches in the city coming to the park to do so. Why not try?

► BEAR PUN: Human-panserbjørn relations have historically been troubled, but have warmed in the past century. It’s the 65th anniversary of the breaking of the Siege of Bertin, a much-mythologized time when Spectres flooded Greysol and a company of panserbjørn arrived and directed efforts to get the survivors out of the city. A statue is being erected and many florid accounts of the story are being told. If you’re in a panserbjørn shape for the duration of the visit you will probably get thanked and celebrated by people trying to hide their nervousness of you. Expect someone to ask if your dæmon would be a human - it’s a common supposition.

► KERNER ISLAND: From the harbor you can see a wooded island. Although there are no rocks to speak of it sports a tall lighthouse, and nearly all boat traffic avoids it carefully. On a clear day someone with binoculars or a particularly sharp-eyed soul can see loads of trash, birds and various other animals that don’t seem local, and… children? Adults and settled teenagers will see tall vague shapes moving about too.

When asked about it the most important thing adults will tell other adults is don’t go there. They’ll hold their dæmons close and tell you that on that island are things that eat souls. They may also admit with mixed pride and shame that it’s been a source of wealth and innovation for the city. There’s a facility there that can open windows into other worlds, and the children who can reach it can cross through and bring things back. Many of the children are recruited by research and development teams on the lookout for items they can use, but there are also kids out to have adventures or who’ve run away. More on this later.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

I think 'easier to handle' is far too late. [Considering Strange is a mercenary, if one of the fighting force has a vulnerable daemon...]

Will that get in the way of our spar? I assume you still wish to do that.

I doubt they'll get in the way and I do wish to spar. Of course, it would be best if we spar on carnival grounds.

[ Only because Strange hasn't yet figured out the level of magic this world has. It wouldn't do to throw around magic in a ridiculous manner if nobody in Greysol was used to people being able to move elements or create rain or what have you. ]

Perhaps we should spar first and then explore? I'm sure sparring will have work up an appetite and I do want to see what sort of food Greysol has.

[Syrlya stops and puts a contemplative hand to his face.] Oh, that is an excellent suggestion. I have seen Elementalists in combat before, but I admit I am curious how differently you will handle the elements.

[He turns to Strange with a smile.] Luckily there are already training swords I can use... you wouldn't happen to also be adept with physical combat, would you? Or are you very strictly a mage?

I've had about a month and a half of combat training, specifically knives. [ So no, he is not adept at physical combat. ]

Truth be told, if you have physical combat skill of that sort, I'd like to spar with that as well.

[ Because as much as he enjoys Lambert's company and finds the practice sessions useful, it is amazingly disheartening to repeatedly get your ass kicked by somebody who was literally made to be a murder machine. Syrlya probably has combat skills as well (otherwise he wouldn't have asked) but surely he wasn't as good as Lambert, right? Maybe? ]

Oh? Daggers are a common choice for Elementalists in Tyria as well. [Unfortunately, Syrlya is also a years-trained murder machine. Good luck Strange.

Syrlya turns to direct them to the training course instead.] I'll be very interested in seeing how you handle them.

[ Badly. That's how he handles them. Still, Strange gives Syrlya a smile like he's perfectly confident in this outcome and nothing will go wrong whatsoever! He follows Syrlya as the two head off towards the training course. ]

What shall we do first? A match with magic, a match of physical combat, or a match of both?

[ please say magic. ]

Typically I fight with both. A sword is also an excellent focus for more offensive magic, and Mesmerics do not have the same... force as hitting someone with a rock or poisoning them, but we are masters of misdirection and have learned to be very crafty with it.

But if you would rather focus on our magic capabilities without being beat with a sword, I have a staff.

[ A sword as a focus? Perhaps that's something he can do with his knife. Already Strange is entertaining new ideas of what he could use his magic for. ]

Truth be told, I'd prefer focusing on our magic capabilities first. I still wish to fight knife-to-sword, of course. But perhaps we could save that for after I've already made a good impression with my magic.

[ He's teasing, but there's also a bit of seriousness in Strange's voice. ]

[Syrlya smiles wide at that. Make a good impression, is it?] I'd like to see it. I will gather my staff from my trailer. Will you meet me on the grounds in... oh, five minutes or so?

Five minutes it is--and I'll grab my knife as well. I shall see you then!

[ And so, Strange and seal head off towards his trailer...probably slower than Syrlya and his owl do because again, seals don't do well on land. ]

[Syrlya will be present at the training area quickly, his sword resting in sheath of to the side while his staff is leaning against his shoulder-- it's a bright pale wood, carved with mastery in the motif of columns and flowers. There's a rainbow curl of magic wrapping around it, and Strange can probably tell now that it's the same magic that Syrlya manipulates for his magic, pre-concentrated around the focus.

He waves to Strange as he approaches. Amser is perched on the dummy near his sword.] Shall we start on your ready?

[ Surprising no one, Strange arrives after Syrlya. He's got a slower daemon and there aren't any mirrors or puddles around here for him to just pop in and out of. He's also taken the opportunity to leave his coat back at the trailer. Granted, this means he's still got his cravat and waistcoat on so he still looks amazingly 1800s, but at least he can move easier now.

There's a dagger at his side, in a makeshift holster. The dagger is made of an odd bluish-green metal, certainly not from the carnival. As he spots Syrlya, Strange grins. ]

There's a raised platform over there, [ he says, gesturing to a platform surrounded by a moat of water, ] or an open space on the other side of the obstacle court. [ And this time he gestures at said open space, an expanse cleared of trees and shrubs. ] Truth be told, I'd prefer the latter, but it's your choice.

[Syrlya doesn't even notice the clothing because it's not unlike what humans in Tyria wear. He glsnces aside to look at the clearing.]

We can fight in open space. The intent is to see the strength of our magic and not our dexterity, after all.

[Syrlya is, in fact, not particularly awhile or graceful enough to run around on raised platforms without falling off. That's what the magic is for!!

So he'll make his way straight for the more open space.] Shall we go on your ready?

[ Oh thank God. Strange can't help his relieve as Syrlya agrees to fight in the open space. He also makes his way for that, moving around so that he's standing across from Syrlya, at the opposite end of the open space.

At Syrlya's question though, Strange nods. ] In that case, let's start right now!

[ And without waiting, Strange mutters a brief incantation before gesturing towards Syrlya. A gust of wind shoots towards the other mage, hard enough to make him wince but soft enough that he would stay standing. It's a fairly controlled gust of wind, so it's perfectly dodgeable, if Syrla even tries to dodge wind in the first place. ]

[Syrlya straightens his staff, slamming one end into the ground for stability and holding his other hand out. He squares his shoulders as he braces himself against Strange's...

Well, the gust hits in full because Syrlya never feels the threat enough to start dodging. He blinks, glancing down at his chest where the breeze connected before looking up at Strange.]

Are we starting slow? [He can handle slow. He waves his hand outward, and glowing purple orbs explode to life and drift towards Strange. They aren't terribly fast, and they won't do more than sting (he assumes they're playing nice right now), but they do home in on their target. Strange can run, but he'll have a hard time running from the couple orbs Syrlya thrusts out.]

[ Agility isn't Strange's strongest suit. He tries to dodge the orbs but due to their honing ability, one hits him in the chest while another hits him in the shoulder. And okay, that stings, new goal, try to find a way to dodge things. Thankfully, Strange comes upon the answer fairly quickly: vanishing through puddles. He did try something of the sort in Portland. Perhaps he could recreate it in the carnival.

The problem here is there's no rain. So as he turns back to face Syrlya, Strange mutters another incantation, to start up a moderate shower, not really caring that it's going to end with both men rather wet.

Of course, it takes a while for the clouds to actually gather and the rain to actually start. So, time to trash talk while the clouds darken and a few raindrops start to fall. ]

I figured it would be best to start off easy! [ said with a laugh. ] After all, I fought in the peninsula, but I've no idea what your experience is! I wouldn't want to bowl you over in the first few minutes!

[ he is not going to bowl Syrlya over at all, Strange is gonna lose this fight because he's a useless bookworm with barely any combat training ]

[Syrlya glances up at the building storm, having hardly moved from his spot--although his knees are bent as if he's ready to run. His attention drifts slowly back to Strange, giving him plenty of time to posture as Syrlya doesn't make a counter move. yet.

He smiles, crooked, not quite callous enough to be a smirk but too amused to be genuine.] That's charming, but you needn't worry about me.

[He leans back on his feet a bit and points down at Strange's feet before waving his hand up. He can meet a storm of a storm, and the magic is going to accrue quickly around Strange's feet in a circle roughly ten feet in diameter. Purple, raw magical energy coats the ground.

And then the lighting strikes, coming upward from the ground in completely chaotic patterns. He can easily get out of the circle, but if he doesn't he'll likely end up zapped.]

[ He can feel the magic coat the ground and, though he has no idea what sort of magic it is aside from Syrlya's, Strange knows that he should get the hell away from that area. Unfortunately for him, the spell springs to life before he can.

A few of the lightning bolts zap him as Strange runs out of the circle, trying his hardest not to yelp in pain (but visibly wincing), muttering as he does so. As he nods at Syrlya, roots from some of the nearby trees spring up from beneath the ground, trying to wrap around Syrlya's feet and hold him in place.

The rain's picking up a bit, and small puddles have started to form. It should just be another thirty seconds or so before the puddles get large enough for him to be really annoying. ]

[Syrlya shifts slightly as he looks around for the source of the noise--there. The trees. Just like an Elementalist, isn't it? He isn't quick enough to dodge by running, but he doesn't need to.

That spark of magic happens around him again and, just like when they met after he'd signed his contract, Syrlya teleports out of place. There's no copy of himself left in his wake this time, but he carries himself a few feet to the left. His attention snaps quickly to Strange from too much experience with locking onto a moving target.

He points. A sheer, translucent copy of himself forms at his side and fires off a spherical projectile like before. Only this time, Syrlya isn't hold back the damage and it's going to hurt a lot more if it connections.]

[ It's a pattern. There's a sense of magic around Syrlya before he casts a spell. However, the man's just too damn fast and knows too much varied magic for Strange to do anything about it.

Of course, Strange knows that he's got a pattern as well. Most of English magic is verbal and he doubts he's going to have enough time to cast a 'work in tandem with an element without saying an incantation every time' sort of spell now that they're in the middle of combat.

His eyes widen as Syrlya forms a transluscent copy of himself (what?! That's amazing! Maybe if he adjusts his mirror spell--) but then Syrlya's firing off another spherical projectile and Strange stops hypothesizing about magic in the middle of battle. The projectile's aiming for his chest but Strange doesn't try to dodge it, instead frowning in concentration as the projectile zooms towards him...and just kind of passes through his chest.

Though it passes through his chest, the projectile impacts the fabric enough to rip a tear in Strange's shirt and waistcoat. Looking through the tear, Syrlya can see that where Strange's chest was, there's now dark purple smoke and the smell of sticky sweetness. It lasts for just a moment or two before the smoke vanishes, replaced by super pale skin.

Unfortunately, he hasn't entirely gotten used to performing that trick so as a result, Strange looks a little woozy. He takes a few steps back, deliberately standing in a puddle, as the roots try to grab Syrla's feet again--though some just pop up and lay on the ground in an attempt to trip up the other mage should he walk away. ]

[That's really their central strong point, Mesmers--they don't have the raw power of an Elementalist, the defense of a Guardian, or the decisive grip in their magic of a Necromancer... but they cast fast, and they're hard to catch.

Speaking of mid-battle awe, Syrlya himself stops to stare as Strange manages to evade the blow by... basically phasing through it. It's not the magic itself that's special, but the fact that Strange acn do it at all, because it completely throws his attempts at categorizing Strange's magic out the window. That's the spell of a Mesmer.

A Mesmer whose ankle has been caught by a vine, and he looks down to realize he's far too off guard. He holds his staff in both hands and teleports again, but this time it's different--it simply throws him backwards a few feet further from strange, and leaves a struggling and confused clone of himself in his wake.

He has no time to worry about it, and leaves it stiff as he lifts the end of his staff from the ground and starts running. Despite the long range of his staff, he's trying to close the gap and get closer to Strange.

The clearer copy of himself continues with firing another bolt of magic at Strange.]

[ Strange grins as Syrlya rushes towards him, looking terribly smug. The puddle's big enough now that guess what buddy, it's usable. With a quickly muttered incantation, Strange magically vanishes into the puddle.

And....just doesn't really reappear anywhere visible. Huh.

Of course, he hasn't ditched the fight entirely. Strange reappears around twelve or so feet behind Syrlya, from a puddle near a tree. And don't mind him as he uses that tree for support for a moment or two to try and catch his breath: for all of Strange's shittalking earlier, he's starting to slow down.

He also has no idea how well the homing from that bolt of magic actually works and how well it could home in on him considering how he vanished. A moment's taken to catch his breath while pausing to wait and see (and also to push his hair from out of his face because yeah, still raining). ]

[Syrlya skids to a halt, staring down at the puddle. A reflection, like a mirror--of course. A quick glance up proves he isn't further ahead, so Syrlya's instinct it to look directly behind himself, spinning quickly on his heels as he narrows his eyes to focus his gaze in the rain.

The tree provides some cover, but it's still daylight and the shadows aren't dark enough for him to hide just by standing there. Syrlya takes one step forward and thrusts his hand out, palm open and fingers spread. There's magic gathering near Strange's feet again, but this time it starts from just in front of him and explodes outward in a bright flash, the diameter of the spell at about six feet. Instead of storms, there's the arms of a clock ticking under him and they tick loudly as they count down.

And if Strange doesn't dodge it, he'll find himself really start to slow down--it's like every move he makes, every breath he takes is dragged into slow-motion. Time has slowed down.

But only for Strange. The spell only lasts a few seconds, but the few seconds is enough for Syrlya to cast another chaotic magic spell in the same place, trying to catch Strange before he can find his bearings and run.]

Edited 2017-09-09 03:06 (UTC)

[ Strange isn't expecting that time spell. As a matter of fact, he's concentrating, getting ready to turn whatever body part Syrlya decides to aim his spell at (as he thinks this is going to be another purple homing orb.) But nope: wrong guess.

He recognizes that it's a magic circle, but this spell is different from any other magic circles he's encountered so far. Sluggishly, Strange tries to step out of the circle but it's too late: Syrlya's spell hits him right in the chest, knocking him backwards and onto the ground.

He's pretty much out for the count. However, Strange has one last trick up his sleeve. Placing a hand on the ground, a blast of cold moves from his hand to the ground, putting a layer of frost on the grass and freezing a few puddles underfoot. ]

[Syrlya waits a moment for Strange to make another move. It's half a minute of Strange left of the ground before he takes that as a loss, and with a slight smile comes forward to help him up.]

I think that--[And then he slips on the closest ice patch to Strange and proceeds to fall backwards on his ass.] Thorns!

Edited 2017-09-09 17:52 (UTC)

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