The final song his soul is to sing
[14:11] Ventirion Calafax stands at the edge of the lava pools within the realm of fire, aged body standing tall, still filled with strength despite the many years that have taken their toll upon him. His stance is one of pride, one that takes heart in ideals that have been followed his entire life. He eyes each and every individual making their way into the realm, some he had seen before, some he had not. Regardless, all were welcome this day.
"Warmest greetings to you all."
His voice resounds through the realm, seemingly being carried through the sands, reaching all who stood within as if he were speaking directly in front of him.
"My humblest thanks for your attendance. There are scant few who remember me, and even fewer who remember my deeds, but you have all warmed this old man's heart today."
Ventirion knelt upon the sands, waving his hands through, eliciting memories of his younger days at redrocks, those spent with the Magyars. Though it had been a great many years since they had returned to the west past the silent expanse, he could feel the eyes of his elders upon him. Those of Tyr, Balenciaga, Alphonse, Edel, Evren.
And even a faint tell of those who were gone, Tuule and Tempus.
"Whether you come here by invitation or simple curiosity, I must make one more request of you all. You stand upon the sands of the dunedrake, and tradition dictates that I must ask an offering. For all came from him, and all shall return to him in the end. The gift matters not, only the intention behind your sacrifice, but he is ever greedy for coin above all."
Ventirion strode forth from where he stood, walking towards where the sands dipped down towards the basin of magma that contained Imbrixium. There he stood, digging alongside those who chose to honor his request.
But he did not stop at a simple small hole, rather he continued, on and on digging a monumental hole the size of five mortal men,but it remained empty for the time being. When he had finished, he stood tall once more, eyes resting on all those in attendance.
(Ventirion Calafax)
[14:19] "....ah."
Her routine of coin offering at the fringes of the Khan-sands above the home where Elvira doth dwell was, perhaps, only her routine. Or was it?
"I guess I can go twice, in lieu of this special occasion."
Her hand glides underneath the coat of swirling black pinions and feathers, eyes carving into frame a runic array that flickers with emeraldine hues and colors. Flickers of the lifestream deposit freshly into her hand, a bottle of jam.
Hoping that it truly needed not be of monetary value, it is set down on the sizzling dune turf.
"I'd had a lot of fun times with my pranks.
...but, eheh," the tribute she perched on the ledge is ushered over with it. Jam and some pocket change.
She's been wrung dry by this whole war.
At least the jam has a nice label.
(Sterling Montelione)
[14:20] An offering.
Coin preferred.
Thus, did Saber step forth, reaching into her cloak, producing a bag of coin, which was placed down, and a bottle of rum. Both were placed a bit close to the pool of lava where that burning sword was.
"A sign of goodwill," she declared, ere she levitated back, to where she was, folding her hands behind her back, content to observe in silence thereafter.
She knew naught of Ventirion, much less the circumstances around this gathering. And yet, that is precisely why she was here--
To learn.
(Saber)
[14:20] The priest steps forwards, towards the hole. A god of abandonment too, a lesson that love matters more than any. Coin, not something easily brought to the man, is weight forth.
Love... a curious thing. A gaze cast across the crowd... does he love the people of Gloom?
A few, yes...
On the whole, people here have been good to him.
One should protect what they care for.
He cannot do much, the old man. Can't fight. Can't die... but he can offer his support, in little ways. Ten thousand crowns are measured, and tossed within. An offering to the drake, wealth rarely attained discarded, alongside a bottle of fine wine, fished from within his cloak. That, too, was a gift to him, and he now gifts it again to the dunes. Something he had intended to enjoy, does not wish to give away, and yet-
For those we cherish, a sacrifice is made, in his own small way. As well, two gilded tokens of the Archmage Association, a thing he rarely has the chance to find.
He hopes it helps... and returns to the line. He doesn't know what words to say, now, so he says none.
(Grey Aundeoth)
[14:21] Grit, would, want to help with the defense of Gloomlight, having spent an entire year and some change as their captive, he had grown to think of it, like his home. He had learned a great deal many things, his perspective has changed, and he has grown as a person. While he didn't know who the giant was, he did know that whoever they were would help with the defense of Gloomlight.
With that in mind, he of course, wanted to come help in any way he could. Though with that said, his magic was far from being anything spiritually inclined. Even now, when he still grows more accustom to using his wind and lightning with his swordsmanship. So whatever he could contribute probably wouldn't be much, or so he thought atleast.
Still, standing next to Justia, he'd whisper something in her ear, before turning his attention back on to the giant and Ksceniya. Focusing on both of them, wondering what will come next.
(Grit)
[14:22] Narsea wasn't sure about what the ritual was about or who the old man was, but despite that he politely placed a coin bag and some cacao with the other offerings. Maybe the dunedrake or whatever it was called would like cacao?
A respectfully bow was made before the boy went back to Grit and Aevi.
(Narsea Ueda)
[14:23] Touka briefly scampers away, down the streets of Aphros to Shinyworks. Bag's of glimmering coin are hurriedly gathered from the vaults, a small group of bejeweled drones following Touka close behind as she dashes back to the ritual.
Much of it had been bartered and gathered for in recent years, all to stem the coming tides that seemed to only grow in momentum. Now, an offering is asked for in the Realm of Fire, a place dear to her sister. Touka would provide what she could to honor this day.
The sum of coin is brought forward to the hole by her and her drone employees.
(Touka Akatsuki)
[14:23] Standing in silence, Aevi listens to the welcome speech spoken by the elder.
Hearing the request for offerings, coin, they dip their hand into their bag for a moment.
The child did not have much to offer but, having had recent challenges with tasks not unlike this...
They stride over in silence, approaching the deeply dug hole.
Reaching into their bag they pull out their entire pouch of coins, jingling quietly as the coin within is jostled.
It was not much, only a mere 3 coins shy of four thousand but it was all they had and all they would give, tossing it into the pile of offerings as they watch it go with a slightly solemn look.
Then turning around to take their position back at the back of the crowd, eager to not have eyes to linger on them for too long.
(Aevi)
[14:24] Their brief conversation ended. They soon took the stand next to a couple of others. That one Austeria hand had now shifted back into a cube. That which compressed in upon itself to be three times smaller than it originally was. Aged and wanting to assist, his first ever steps into the realm.
His offering had long since passed its hands. Laden bare unto the sands. It was as if all was fine. But he'd watch, he waited in truth. A hole the size of a true mountain. It was the greatest moment of devotion one could give their patron spirit.
It was something he hoped to offer. But even so, he watched others and waited ever patiently. Ever somberly.
(Metztli)
[14:25] The familiar heat wafted upon him as he hovered through the gateway that separated unreality and this realm of flames, a home of which he was all too familiar with.
His eyes sat upon the familiar face Ventirion with whom he knew only in passing, present during his very rebirth and once more with an hour most dire of man, once that would shape the very fabric of the reality they knew.
And he asks for that of an offering, one of which he were reluctant to make as his claws moved to the singular bag of coin hefted upon his side looped tightly.
He did not speak a word, nor did he split the coin, and though its contents perhaps did not burden the sack as well as another's may it was all of which he had upon him, hovering closely toward the giant.
His eyes locked upon him, a look that understands that this is but yet another attempt to save what is left of Meranthe and a burden that must be shouldered as he set the sack down upon the depthsof the hole that sought for offerings.
Two sticks of Cobalthine are then thusly drawn from his bag and tossed into the hole as well as he then turned around to watch the following events.
(Hajime Akatsuki)
[14:25] Svengalf floats towards the attendance. He looks upon Ventirion. A smile to witness such unique figure who stood in the Silent Expanse. Even in hiding, Ventirion still stood proud and strong.
"Ha, if only Andes would be there to witness you, friend. I am sure he would have loved to see you. It's good to see you in a good shape, Ventirion, despite all of the years."
A nod is adressed to him. A bit, nostalgic of the past. To his request, Svengalf wasn't sure on what to give. He stood motionless, looking upon the signet on his hand.
He steps forward, and drops a purse of coins. A small one sadly.
"Despite my old age, friend, I do not have a lot of coins to provide anymore. The cost of war and the ransoms of people dear to me haven't been tender with me.
I wish I could help you further more alas."
(Svengalf Sandsker)
[14:27] PM from (OOC)Sterling Montelione: mind if i scatter some pretty sinka
[14:27] The Realm of Fire is a familiar place to a dragon that has spent a significant amount of time wrapped around an egg here. Its blazing heat, a dryness that yet calls sweat to the skin, or a shine to a scale. Yet as the large dragon would sink her claws into the earth, crimson slits looking at Calafax, the one before her is an old but new being. Not too many people remember the Horde, perhaps for good reason. For debatable reasons did they come, and so quickly did they leave. She has not forgotten what they did, once.
But... It has been many, many decades since then. Half a century and more. This is not a man entirely of the horde, for those times have long gone. But something... different. Even the realms of unreality are not static, not entirely in their time.
With a huff of crimson, the dragon would hold a claw over one of her front forelimbs, ivory bone mana infusing her talons. It would be a single quick motion as mechanical like, the dragon's claws would bite into her limb, cutting past the scales below to the tissue in a painful sting. From the dragon's arm, she would let her incredibly thick syrup like blood, infused with so much mana would look like a nebula of stars, drip onto the heated sands surface without even a sizzle.
Her sacrifice, for there is nothing much valuable within her than her blood and her mind, and that is a mixture of both. A Blood dragons blood, for a spirit, may be a valuable thing, and so it is her offering as the wound would sting, but cease bleeding...
(Ksceniya C. Montelione)
[14:27] PM to (OOC)Sterling Montelione: go for it
[14:28] Justia would listen and watch quietly, though unfamiliar with this man, she would still pay her respects with a polite bow as she floats up quietly and gently sets down a large bag of coin alongside the growing pile.
Once she returned to her spot, she would gently tilt her head to the side toward Grit, a silent nod of acknowledgement before she turned her attention back to the man before them.
(Justia)
[14:30] There were a few Oliphr hadn't seen in decades- though it felt like centuries since last he saw them... Ventirion- so long ago did Oliphr remember his youth and seeing the giant warrior in the land of New Dexia- speaking to him about Oliphr's adopted uncle Anatoli... truly, such things were long since gone. The emotions, the time, the world, the places and faces-
To see Proteus as well, once seen long ago in Aphros, proper- then once again to bestow his memory for whatever ritual he incurred- This certainly was an interesting encounter... if only he could call upon such people for his own attempts to aid Meranthe's people.
Stepping forward, Oliphr bowed to the familiar giant.
"Well met Ventirion- I see your armor has been put aside since last we met so long ago-"
Raising his shield, Oliphr would interact with all of the cores, letting each one glisten and glow with their respective magics. As he did, Oliphr considered all that had happened in his life, all he wished to do and what proofs could be shown- above all- to show earnest in their actions.
A small bag of coins, comparatively to what was likely set before, was raised above his shield. A small burst of light flashing upon it, and the coins were places with the rest. Though ten-thousand was added in coin- a flush of mana from Oliphr was bestowed to the coins...
A payment of coin and a magi's worth of mana imbued into it.
(Taking Extreme Temp)
(Oliphr Ishiko)
[14:38] PM from (OOC)Oliphr Ishiko: https://imgur.com/a/LHVanAc
[14:39] PM to (OOC)Oliphr Ishiko: ty
[14:40] Ventirion nodded in approval to all of those who dug their own pits. The traditions of the magyars had been forgotten, but respect be it of tradition or himself was still alive, and that was something to be glad about. A great grin was flashed towards those he knew in his youth, towards Svengalf and Oliphr, remembering the day he hounded them to sell reagents for a paltry sum of coin.
He waited until the shifting sands had silenced, and all had been properly offered to the dunedrake before he spoke once more, voice echoing throughout the realm.
"My name is Ventirion Calafax. Some of you may know me, some of you may not. I was a warrior in ages gone by, I fought against the fel and the holy crusades of the sainted enclave alike. I killed many who were deserving, and many who were not."
Ventirion's mind returned to the days of war in his youth. Those of New Dexia when the city was laid to waste, and Taglia killed by his Khan Elvira. Then they moved to the razing of redrocks, where he stood alone against the crusading armies, empowered by the spirits of the sands.
"But this city matters to me. It is the home of my Khan, resting within Imbrixium, it is a place of redemption for ones such as myself with numerous sins. And it matters to all of you as well."
Ventirion then turned towards the titanic blade embedded within the magma, eyes reminiscent of days gone by.
"And so, a brief lesson in history. When I was younger, those of the sainted enclave made it clear their intent to raze the Horde's dwelling for their crimes against those who lived in the desert. The Horde had already gone, but I could not abandon those who had given me a home when it seemed that the last vestiges of belonging had been taken from me. The sands echoed my cause, and so blessed me in my defense and though I was unable to defeat Kure Avincus, the sands provided me vigor to escape alive, and continue my story."
He began marching towards the blade, heedless of the heat emanating from the molten rock surrounding the pathway.
"And I intend to do the same now. To ask for the spirits aid, to become an avatar of the great dunedrake, and stand once more in defense of that which I hold dear. But I am an aged man with no capability beyond the strength of my arm, and that is why I require your aid."
The sand seemed to hum with power, and curiously if any were to brush their hands across the sand, they would see their offerings disappeared into the sands, reclaimed by whatever spirits rested here.
"Through Imbrixium, and Elvira, I will make contact with the great dunedrake, and ask his favor that he might act through me to repel the Fel threat at our doorstep, though it will doubtless cost my life. I bid you circle around as I perform the ritual, aiding me in whatever way you are able be it simple mana to bolster my strength, or a ritual of your own to draw the spiritual realm and the realm in fire ever closer. As with the offerings, it is the intent that matters most."
His will made clear, he continued down the path towards Imbrixium, and rested his hand upon it. Immediately upon contact his eyes turned from gold to white, and the markings all across his skin began to glow with power, as he began to mumble in strange foreign speech.
(Ventirion Calafax)
[14:41] {Item} You picked up Fairy Powder x2. Dropped by Metztli.
[14:41] {Item} Picked up a bag of 3000 dropped by Svengalf Sandsker.
[14:41] {Item} Picked up a bag of 10000 dropped by Oliphr Ishiko.
[14:41] {Item} Picked up a bag of 4320 dropped by Hajime Akatsuki.
[14:41] {Item} You picked up Cobalthine x2. Dropped by Hajime Akatsuki.
[14:41] {Item} Picked up a bag of 50000 dropped by Touka Akatsuki.
[14:41] {Item} Picked up a bag of 50000 dropped by Saber.
[14:41] {Item} You picked up Shin Unarmed Rum. Dropped by Saber..
[14:41] {Item} You picked up Caewynn Blodeuyn 2135. Dropped by Grey Aundeoth..
[14:41] {Item} Picked up a bag of 10000 dropped by Grey Aundeoth.
[14:41] {Item} You picked up Token x2. Dropped by Grey Aundeoth.
[14:41] {Item} You picked up Dunedrake Jelly - 2136. Dropped by Sterling Montelione..
[14:41] {Item} Picked up a bag of 326 dropped by Sterling Montelione.
[14:41] {Item} Picked up a bag of 3997 dropped by Aevi.
[14:41] {Item} Picked up a bag of 4000 dropped by Justia.
[14:41] {Item} You picked up Amber. Dropped by Ophis..
[14:41] {Item} You picked up Cacao Fruit. Dropped by Narsea Ueda..
[14:42] {Item} You drop Ky'iah x1.
[14:42] {Item} Picked up a bag of 500 dropped by Narsea Ueda.
[14:42] {Item} You picked up Ky'iah. Dropped by Ventirion Calafax..
[14:48] PM from (OOC)Sterling Montelione: i like how everyone picked a flower to stand by kajdsf;dla;
[14:49] PM to (OOC)Sterling Montelione: it's very cute
[14:49] The synthetic lifeform remained attentive of what Ventirion had to say, white eyes shifting, like the lens of a camera would when focusing. Information and knowledge, to be committed to her memory banks, as per her ultimate goal of learning.
At his request, she also relocated, to levitate at one side of the lava pool, where the ritual would seemingly continue. A hand was raised, without much hesitation, and mana flowed out, silver in hue, towards the giant.
(Saber)
[14:51] Grit would honestly, just refer whatever judgement to Justia, as in, whatever she did, he'd be doing the same. He wasn't familiar at all with the ritual, didn't really know who the man was, or what was going on.
So, as they all stepped closer, some surrounding the giant, he'd look up towards Justia to see what she was doing, as she seemingly stayed back from the circle he'd do the same, and then look onward, to see what would happen next.
(Grit)
[14:52] Stepping forward, to join the circle of Magi and offer yet more of themselves...
Aevi takes a stance, closing their eyes and clasping their hands as they call forth their thin veil of Cosmic mana tinged on the fringes with the faint echoes of spirit mana.
Taking a moment to gather their strength they spread their arms wide they offer their mana up to be taken freely, given openly and allowed to flow toward the elder.
The swirl of mana, cosmic and spirit alike flowing over the relentless heat of the lava.
Such an offering however, leaves Aevi even more drained than they already were with what strength they were able to offer somewhat waning.
Their legs a tad shaky as a little bit of the color fades from their face, beginning to look a tad unwell albeit in no serious danger yet.
(Aevi)
[14:54] The Element Core was planted in the ground as he made his way forward. Honing on the Fire core, specifically, the old Spiritmancer would awaken the Spirit magic he had imbued so heavily into his shield- a small, red wisp appearing from the core.
As it seemed to float about, it came to Ventirion. A small being of Spirit magic, born from Oliphr's own Spirit mana and infused with the Shards of Ifraheim, it sensed what the purpose of the ritual at hand was. Reading into Venitiron's words and emotions, searching for sincerity in his words, the little wisp circled him before returning to the Fire core of Oliphr's shield.
The core would thrum with illuminated life as a small channel to the Spirit Realm of Ifraheim was opened. The Shards had been used as a catalyst for Oliphr's Spiritmancy to interact with for many things- to search for Eivor, to study the Spirit mana of the Spirit Realms, to help piece back spirits of living beings with Spiritual mana from the realms themselves-
The wisp, an extension of Oliphr's Spiritmancy, separate from him in the heart of the Element Core, would create this tether, though small compared to the work of the Spiritmancer, and bring the tether to Ventirion to connect to his own spirit.
The Fire Wisp deemed his cause just, empathizing with his desire to protect and grants him the aid of this small tether directly to Ifraheim.
(Oliphr Ishiko)
[14:54] Touka steps around to the edge of the lake, staring upon Imbrixium. Twice before had she called upon it's power, on that of the Realm of Fire in it's entirety. Once for imbuing the blade of her beloved sister, and once again to imbue the rings for her sister and her fiancé.
Familiar to the tremendous power within, that which pales to the offerings she could give, she turns instead to what saw those rituals succeed, the beginnings of a runic circle drawn upon the sands with crimson red crystals.
Upon each crystal are runes drawn, ones to buffer the flow of mana, and ones to quicken it. The greatest threat to her experiences before was control, reservoirs and valves for the mana the key to ensure a stable flow from such great powers.
Should the Realm swell with mana at the call, the circle would attempt to siphon and alleviate it, and when the flow inevitably wanes the power would be returned to match the previous rate, till all was complete.
All her focus would be spent managing this action, activating and deactivating runes to compensate where she saw fit.
(Touka Akatsuki)
[14:56] To aid, in any way he can.
The priest of Cauis removes the glove from his right hand, revealing the coiling red scars from his first battle. An injury healed by a follower of Caius, that to this day has never fully healed. Begonia's work, long ago...
That hand comes to clutch upon the Aundeoth Crest upon his neck, oathbound by his Radiant wife. To hold tightly, as the arcanium thorns of it's sinka-stem chain pierce his flesh to draw blood. A formless and distant light glimmers upon the diamond-plated link, scarlet and gold mixed together, and he whispers as his Echo forms to do the same.
"For those cherished, here and gone, an offering is made. To the dunedrake beyond goes a man, laying down the most precious gift he can offer. For those he cherishes, there is no greater act of love than this. Though I know him not, I offer this light.
May it guide him, to find those who love him still in death. May it guide others, in times long and far away, who love him still, to find him and be at his side once more. May these ties that bind light his way."
A glowing, formless white fog, cold as the grave and warm as love itself, flows from the Aundeoth towards he who is about to die. The priest lends a portion of his own life towards the ritual, to draw himself closer to death, and too, the realm of spirits closer to life. To press upon that final threshold, ever so gently, and call it forwards.
(Grey Aundeoth)
[14:57] To draw the spiritual realm and the Realm in Fire, closer.
Who better, but she who is forging her own?
Her mind is overworked these days.
But still, she'll use it.
Sterling draws in a deep breath, and her eyes fan over the Realm in Fire. She is, for a moment, nearly the spitting image of the Imperfect, the once-enemy, the Demon King of Meranthe. For that brief moment, she poises, even without the Exordium, as the silhouette of a foe. Her head tilts back to glance upon the nest of her sister, the tiny isle of molten slag, bone, and no doubt, jewels.
This place, too, was like a home to her. Albeit, the reasons, far-flung, far-removed.
"HARK!"A verbal drumbeat pulses through the air, a verbal incantation beginning to flow out from her in kind. It is devoid of melody, bereft of song.
But it is strength, in a form.
"Dimension-sent realm-weaver, bird of prayer, conjured of Sky,
owls, crows, pinions, alight,
Quill of the Author, Realm of Naught,
I beckon, I chide, I call."
A verbal cast, akin to a poem with structure, but without flair. A lack of elegance, a cry to the voids. The twilight of distant stars flecks and flakes with her gaze, hewn yellow whilst her attunement the spiritual call forth. In a way, after all, psionics is just spiritmancy.
And she is capable of grand psionic feats.
Her horns are alight with the glimmering and the gold of her work, ivory the bedrock for that weave of light, even as a thread of inky black trails down the side. The colors of her robes, the alien hues and indiscernible form of her silhouette, fold and blend and skew into one 'shade.' And for a time, she is little more than an artistic silhouette.
Really pushing it with these rituals, lately.
But, this one's for him.
For Calafax.
(Sterling Montelione)
[14:58] PM from (OOC)Oliphr Ishiko: The link to the screenshots should be updated to unclude the description of the item in the shield, being the Shards of Ifraheim
[14:59] PM to (OOC)Oliphr Ishiko: awesome, it did update so I'll include it in the log
[15:00] Towards his history, Svengalf hasn't forgotten Indeed his origins. The trouble that the Golden Horde has brought upon Meranthe. The lives that were lost, the dubious alliances tied to gold.
But yet. Ventirion looked behind him. Reflecting on his past actions. That he could be better. He reminded him a familiar soul. A certain Ilyas, who also shared the same fate as him. Bound by duty, traditions, and blade, but then managed to find inner peace and redemption.
"Heavy is the weight of the blood you carry from your past, Ventirion. But through your youth, you have grown to think and reflect upon yourself. And then act in consequences. You remind me of a friend. Perhaps, Ilyas de Daum rings a bell to you ?
He also has comitted mistakes. But has found also redemption through his actions"
A moment of silence happens, thoughtfull. Before then nodding.
"But the fight continues. Staying to your now trueself. An admirable determination that can inspire many.
But if the price of such continuation is a sacrifice of yourself, then in that case, let it be your Swan's Song that would conclude your story, to make a better place into this world and allow the future generation to continue.
Think, about your achievements. Think of what makes you proud of. Think, of what has helped achieving a fullfilling life.
Your body may be sacrified in today's process. But your spirit may survive, reincarnated into this avatar. And to begin reincarnation, you have to be ready to move on into the next life."
He then nods slowly, then shakes his head.
"If this is what you want to achieve, so be it. I grant you my blessing to continue achieving your swan's song."
He raises one hand, contributing his magic to connect with the Lifestream in this place, and allow Ventirion to reach for the spirits.
(Svengalf Sandsker)
[15:00] The dragon would listen silently, crimson slits staring down at the man above, some part of her knowing what goes through his mind. She remembers it. The Sainted Enclave too. Different times. Debatably better, but worse in their own ways. Yet... a home, and his vigor. It becomes so clear what this man wants to do now. The ultimate sacrifice as the Dragon of Blood knows well, is of life. Ones blood, ones body, one's entirety. A martyr, a sacrifice, but one willing.
With a sting to her leg, the dragon would trot slowly along the side of the pool, stopping at a good spot. There are a few ways to help here, but the dragon decides on the simplest. She is a dragon, one that was made from the Aeldfyr and his siblings. In fire, in heat, they are who decided. In her breath, her pure breath, that is her answer.
The dragon would take a large breath in as her breath organ would begin to work, pulling on the instinctual flare and spark of fire that rests within all dragons. Herneck would begin to shine with building orange, contained fire shown through the edges of her scales, as heat would begin to bellow from her neck and chest even more than the natural extent of the realm, or empowered by it. It would build and build, before finally...
The dragon in a single exhale would expunge her breath, an aspect of true draconic fire flowing from her maw into the pit. Wild, controllable, yet full of the potential of those who created the world, of a dragon's. A call to spirits in its fiery song, for those who made the world alongside them. Either to fall in the lava or the sword would her breath last in burning flame, seconds to minutes of pure-dragon's fire, before finally it would cease. To what may come from it all, who knows? But for a dragon another dragon helps to call....
(Ksceniya C. Montelione)
[15:00] A name to match the figure of old. Of ancient wisdom of someone who had long since lived. A tradition of a tribe long since passed. That's what he spoke of, fighting against the fel. And a mysterious group who lived in a place called the sainted enclave? There was curiosity within his eyes.
A glance was spared towards the titanic blade that rested in the very heart of it. Knee deep within the boiling lava that ever changed. Ever burned with an unmatched passion. But to the giant, this place was a home. Nay; not this place, but the blade itself. All resting within it.
History, lost almost forever was recanted. To the new, to the old, to all those who would remember. A tale of the enclave, to raze down one's home. A place long since abandoned and yet he refused to budge. To defend it against all manner of foe. When one echoed the stalwart resolution to keep forward.
But much like the other, Metztli relocated himself closer to the blade, to the path Ventirion wished to walk. He wished to ask the spirits for aid once more. But as withered as he was? It wasn't a wonder as to why he called others to help, to assist in that same venture. But he knew no rituals, but what he could offer? Quiet prayers flowing from a silent mouth.
"From the sands, came a ragged man,
Dressed in tattered garbs, the last of a history forgotten.
He called upon those who listened, and they came to his aid,
To the man who would pray to the sands one final time."
Where the muted thrum of static seeped in as mana was directed; Guided to aid the giant in his pursuit of communing with the dunedrake.
(Metztli)
[15:03] A sharp inhale is sent through the Commander as he made his way toward the north end of the magma pools hovering just above the lip of the wall looking down upon the Giant to do as was asked.
His arms stretched outward, heat wafting through the center of their position, it was apparent he himself were drawing upon his own mana as to help coax the flames through the air.
Stands of this concentrated heat rolled against his chest culminating into a swirling orb of pressure turning flames, singing against the air violently.
The Commanders scarlet gaze were turned back upon the Giant with an evident resolve whilst the tips of his claws flexed drawing the flame forward until the mana imbued embers rested snuggly within his grasp.
The future remained unknown, only having what lay directly now in front of him in order to save everything his very past and present.
His left claw clasped along the embers of mana that nestled with its new solid but temporary form as the other claw outstretched toward the Domice in the neighboring section pressing thumb to index with a guttural snap as ivory grated along itself.
Blood spewed from their maws in such a way that appeared to be an instant merciful death, aiming to draw forth the blood of their flames unto the mana he had already set forth as he sighed.
"It is with this life I hope to offer you the vigor required to not just repel the Atrellyans but destroy them, it is with this fire that your legend never fades."
The flaming blood were coaxed closer toward him as he then intended to infuse it within his own flames sweltering with a vigorous flame, directing his claw toward the giant.
The mana were passed forward to imbue into the man as perhaps a futile attempt to offer him even the very hope to accomplish his goals.
(Hajime Akatsuki)
[15:24] The pommel of the blade alit before long, surging with a flame that had scorched him once before, but his hand held firm to the pommel, unrelenting in his mission.
Were it not for those gathered, he would have failed in his task. But his body was reinforced by the mana provided to him by Saber and Metztli, and the ether magic of Aevi suffused him, reminding him of the stars that he himself once called down onto the battlefield.
The shards of Ifraheim lent by Oliphr bolstered him against the flames he fought against, reigniting the passion that was but embers within his soul. The prayer of Grey reinforced his own will, lending both weight, and understanding to the sacrifice to come.
The psionics of Sterling eased his burden as one so attuned to the realms within unreality. They were not quite hers to mold, but to bend ever so slightly. He thought back to their first meeting within the realm, and to the dutifulness with which she honored his traditions. This remembrance too, gave him strength to continue onwards.
And then the words of Svengalf made their way to Ventirion, the words of Ilyas his good friend and brother in battle. One who walked much the same path as Ventirion, and found redemption in the end. The words gave him hope, that even he with his bloody past, could achieve something more.
He stumbled, and nearly fell but the flaming blood of Hajime had reached him at last, infusing him with a bodily strength that age had stolen from him. With a grunt of both thanks and supreme effort, Ventirion rose to his feet once more, redoubling his efforts upon the blade.
And then Ksceniya's flames paved way the final steps towards the spirits within the sands, and that which rested within the blade itself. Her spiritual fire flowed over Ventirion, and at last he was able to make the contact he desired.
This was a test given to him by the spirits, one of resolve. Upon the crusade of redrocks his will was clear as he stood against Adan, Edward, and Palade Avincus. But now? After having been detatched from the history of the world so long, perhaps it was that whatever spirits inhabited this place required a true show of his will.
But willpower in particular, was something Ventirion had more than enough of. Spurred on by all the surrounding magi, he gripped the pommel tighter and tighter, and through clenched teeth, whispered his will unto the blade.
"Elvira, long have I stood loyally by your side, seeking to do right by my Khan, but never approaching the heights of your journey. I seek to do so now, just as you were prepared to sacrifice yourself at the sealing of Lyseroth, I shall sacrifice myself now, in aid of the world regardless of how it views me. Allow me this final favor Khan, if you would."
The flames around the sword nearly exploded, completely enveloping Ventirion's form within them upon the utterance of these final words. For a moment, all was still but the crackling of the flames.
And then as quickly as they came, the flames disappeared, and Ventirion was left there, still standing, right arm cracked and blackened, as the heat from the blade began to slowly climb his arm, seeking to take him over.
He staggered backwards, and gave a singular nod towards the blade, and then slowly walked the path back, towards the pit he had dug, but left unfilled at the beginning of the ritual.
The meaning was unclear at the time, but as he marched, the look in his eyes made it plain for all to see.
He had dug a grave.
Continuing to stagger, the blackened flames grew over his body and as he was just about to reach the pit, he fell to one knee, mind wild with pain, and whispered a single word to Metztli, using the boy to rise once more, and finally taking his final steps, falling into the pit.
The charring and scorching of his flesh did not abate, and the realm began to rumble with an awesome power, thesands slowly shifting over where Ventirion had fallen. As the flames reached his head, he gave one last sigh, with a sense of finality, and closed his eyes. The sands overtook his body.
And he was gone.
(Ventirion Calafax)
[15:24] Ventirion Calafax whispers to Metztli: Ibroth'Lash...
[15:31] And he was gone...
Another life passes before the Aundeoth, and though he knew the man not, sorrow's shadow graces over his heart. A somber walk towards the grave, as the Aundeoth reaches within his cloak to draw forth a single sinka rose in bloodied hand, and let both flower and drops of crimson mark the site of passing.
"... rest well, Ventirion Calafax. It will not be forgotten."
(Grey Aundeoth)
[15:35]
Aevi watched with a strange silence, the full weight of the events proceding before him not present on his mind.
Watching as all those magi contributed strength to the elder, one after another.
Listening in silence the final words of what the elder speaks finally impart the true weight of what the ritual entails, The small felinae's face adopting a subtle expression of shock.
Watching the flames consume and sear the elder they remain dead silent, watching each step they took to the hole, the grave they had dug.
As Ventirion falls into the pit and the life leaves his body, The felinae is left overcome with an unfamiliar sensation.
They had just witnessed the first death that they would experience in this life, Leaving a profound mark on them.
Life given, in service of a purpose...
It seemed like an almost peaceful idea to them.
They offer their silence out of respect, simply one arm to fall to the side as the other forms a closed hand resting on their chest.
Their expression turning from the shocked of before to solemn as their gaze meets the ground.
(Aevi)
[15:36] Svengalf observed the scenery. As Ventirion approaches the blade, he knows what to expect.
A painfull clutch on his heart is felt. The memory of another friend who was claimed by the blade. He looks at him, observing the skin scorching from the flammes. No matter how hot were the flames and the realm, Svengalf could shed a tear.
Very few would accept to move on and give it all to sacrifice themselves for a greater purpose. But he could feel, that Ventirion was proud of it. And didn't regret digging his own grave for it.
He was conscious of his choice.
Svengalf wipes the tear, nodding.
"May you rest in peace, Ventirion. And may you be reborn to achieve greatness, friend."
(Svengalf Sandsker)
[15:36] The Captain would close her eyes as she bowed her head slightly, a slight raise of her left hand as the gentle caress of her shadows would cover the younger Magi's eyes, not completely blocking out their vision, but keeping them from seeing anything too in detail.
A sacrifice for one's home, while a beautiful sight, it was something the children should not be made to see as flesh and bone was seared away and buried in the sand.
She would offer a silent prayer, a hand placed on her chest as she payed her respects.
(Justia)
[15:37] The realmsmith stares upon the deathmarch.
The spirits are heightened, her thoughts pervade. This is not her domain, not her territory, she has no Authority, here, per se. But that does not defy her, her strength.
Fires roar in the cauldron, and all she can do is fan them.
To heat the flames, to billow with wind, to send her last regards to sacrifice.
The last of the Greats is gone, just like that.
This realm is left to nothing but inheritors from whom it was not made.
Will hers be like that, one day, too?
What does she say in a time like this?
(Sterling Montelione)
[15:37] Sterling Montelione says in telepathy, ...goodbye, Ventirion.
[15:38] Both Narsea and his bat did a military salute while still standing close to Grit and Justia, as someone who had witnessed violence and death from a young age that was all the boy could do. A silent prayer to Athelios was made before the boy kneeled down and gently buried a single coin, he didn't share the giant's faith but it was his way to show respect.
(Narsea Ueda)
[15:38] Sterling Montelione says in telepathy, I hope I will see you there.
I will not forget your tributes, your ways. Or you.
You stood out.
Thank you.
[15:41] The little Fire wisp, staying beside Ventirion, would relinquish its tether to Ifraheim, hurdling back into the Element Core to seat itself into the shards of the Fire core. Oliphr watched as the giant was set ablaze and walked himself to his own grave.
Choices... choices... choices. The choice to follow Elvira- the one even Oliphr knew by name and knew well to call Khan instead- the choice to aid the Golden Horde, to choose this final act. Such were the choices that led to his fate. Oliphr would watch, not unphased, but visually unemotional as he watched a warrior follow the path of their leader.
"Honorable..." -like a real giant.
In a whisper, Oliphr would send off another old acquaintance from an era long gone.
"Give my regards to the Khan- though I have no doubt I will meet her before too long myself."
This would mark the end of Ventirion Calafax and, to Oliphr, the final end of the chapters of the Golden Horde and New Dexia alike.
(Oliphr Ishiko)
[15:42] PM from (OOC)Sterling Montelione: man fuck you, got me cryin and shit
[15:42] PM to (OOC)Sterling Montelione: bro I got myself ugly crying too
[15:43] PM from (OOC)Sterling Montelione: like i wasn't CRYING crying until i said "wait, i'm speechless"
[15:43] PM from (OOC)Sterling Montelione: started typing telepathy, re-thought of the paragraph that nodded to sterling
[15:43] PM from (OOC)Sterling Montelione: and suddenly the past 15 weeks from when she was a kid paying tribute to elvira who she looked up to
[15:43] PM from (OOC)Sterling Montelione: rushed through me and hit something in my soul
[15:44] PM from (OOC)Sterling Montelione: and i went from 'nothing' to 'crying thoroughly' in like 5 seconds
[15:44] PM to (OOC)Sterling Montelione: guh
[15:44] PM from (OOC)Sterling Montelione: those tears MANIFESTED
[15:45] To reinforce, that was the intent of his strange prayer. To send one last man off into the hearth and home that he desired. Something that would lend him an aid. Everyone's efforts were grand in unison.
Another aiding with mana. There were those who gave shards of Ifraheim to bolster the flames that lapped at the giant's being. His will was reinforced, his will made into effect. To push onwards to his destination.
A goal waiting from decades of time. To join the dune drake, and all those he had left behind. And Ventirion moved with diligence, a giant far beyond his years was still readily determined. For he was the last of a realm of history that had all but burned itself out.
Step by step, even as the flames hungered for him. He reached the blade itself, a momentary pause lingered along it just before Metztli could feel it. An elder making his due peace. But he listened, to the will and testament of a man ready to go.
It was nothing short of a death march.
For as the flames around the blade erupted, seeking to devour the elder in a form of cleansing fire. There was but an opposite, it was clear to see that he had one foot in the grave. Each step was clear to everyone. Death was waiting for the man.
Staggering steps, and when he fell to a single knee? There was Metztli; just to barely catch the man. To help him rise, before something had been passed between them.
Eyes gone wide for but a second at what was heard, all before they followed the man in that moment until he fell into the pit. When the sands moved to join him with the others, there was but a bow, to a man only recently met. Yet recently returned as well.
"We only just met, and yet we must say our goodbyes...I wish I could've met you sooner. Goodbye Ventirion Calafax, may your Khan welcome you with open arms."
(Metztli)
[15:47] Grit would look continue to watch The ritual, crossing his arms as he does so, while canting his head to the side. What was going on here exactly? A sword in the middle of a lake made of lava, a giant attempting to pull it out, and everyone sending their mana towards the giant.
Grit, at this point, was pretty used to death. His own parents, Ereshikiga's, and having lived with a myriad of skeletons, zombies, and the like. So, when Ventirion was talking about his sacrifice...he already knew what to expect.
Before, Grit wouldn't have really cared, a man he never knew dying trying to protect his home? So what, what did that have to do with him...But, that pesky feeling his chest, one that would cause the boy to look...somber...his still developing sense of empathy, would allow him easily to relate to the Giant. Afterall, at this point, that's all Grit has tried to do himself.
He'd sacrifice as much as he could for when he lived at Atrellya, and now, Gloomlight, including his plan to join the war effort...a war effort against the place he once called his home. It's not as if Grit had thought himself to be some martyr, or that it was some noble sacrifice, it was just what he thought he had to do to get by...He even sacrificed his own humanity, turning into a cambion.
Still, what Ventirion was doing, was different, this wasn't just him 'trying to get by' it was him fighting for the people that would come after him, that still existed-
Just then though his own thought process would be interrupted by Justia's hand, a darkness clouded his vision from her shadow magic, though he could still barely peer through it. At first, Grit would wonder what and why Justia was doing this, what does it matter if he sees the man die...then he'd come to a realization...his gaze, through Justia's hand shrouded in shadow, would turn to Aevi.
Grit knowing that he was hardened to the idea of death saw no issue with it...but, he knew Aevi's personality by this point. He would likely not have it as easy coming to grips with watching a man die, sacrificing himself to protect his home...Still, Grit would just stand there, quietly. He knew no gods or religion, but, even he would wish Ventirion well in his next life..
(Grit)
[15:50] An so her flame would cease, the afflictions and the helps of them all letting in this one time, Ventirion whisper his will. A single wish, a single hope for the world and perhaps the city itself, that someone ones will, ones determination will change the universe itself. And maybe in that single instant of burning and beckoning flames, as it pulls at tissues, as it burns his cells, as it takes the rest of what the man is, all of him.
It will. Just maybe, it will
A martyr, Ventirion is not the first person she has helped to his death, and he most likely will not be the last. But even she is not apathetic enough to feel nothing as he would fall into the pit, the heat radiating from the sides of her mouth as crimson slits would take in the last of the giant, swept away into the burning yellow. Not even a body left, as the sands often take from those who live on it.
Silence then, in a world of heat and power and rumbling, until all would fall still.
"...May he ress-sst." Crimson slits would raise to look at the sword, before they would close "...And may hiss-ss prayers-ss be anss-sswered." For all and his hopes alike.
(Ksceniya C. Montelione)
[15:56] {NARRATION} As Ventirion held the hilt of Imbrixium, its flames roared back to life, threatening to engulf him whole... and yet, it was thanks to the mana, to the blessings, to all the boons he had been bestowed with, that his body managed to resist, just a bit longer, as was necessary.
Hushed words were offered to the blade. The will of that giant, whom intended to give everything, even his life, in sacrifice, to aid against the incoming threat. It was in response to such that those flames exploded, spreading outwards, beginning to burn through the Calafax's body, searing it, scorching it, painting his skin in a charred black.
And as he walked back, and fell to his knee, the sands did shift and waver, and the Realm of Fire trembled, reacting to this, his offer. His sacrifice. Even the pools of lava stirred unnaturally, belying the presence of something, causing ripples to spread throughout the molten lava, as if someone were stepping on water.
As the candle of Ventirion's life burned, melting, almost disappearing; as his body fell into the pit, soon enough away from sight... the Realm of Fire shuddered once more. The giant would feel but the gentle, reassuring touch of a hand, there at his left shoulder, coinciding with his final sigh. In an instant, the pain was gone, and a moment of clarity followed for the giant.
"Very well. So it shall be," spoke the one referred to as the 'Great Dunedrake,' in a reverberating tone of voice, one that seemed to reflect the slightest tinge of pride. The King of the Spirit Realm, his body that of the slumbering dunes of the desert.
...And just as so, all present influences suddenly disappeared, as did Ventirion Calafax.