You're giving home advantage to me? Very well then. Let's see...
[She will open the simulation doors... to a dizzying sight. Endless books, stacked atop each other, platforms and stairs and pillars of hardcover tomes. Atop the pyramid opposite them stands a grand crystal inkwell. From its mouth an immense swirl of black ink turns in the air. Beholding it lends a sense of existential dread. It's best to keep your eyes elsewhere.
Below the books, there is a roiling magma of torn paper. Lightning crackles through them. Perish the thought of falling into it. Much like the ink, it's best to avoid them.
When Rosamund steps into this space she becomes as she was in the memory lent to Strohl last week: scarred, in a tattered dress, briars wound around her body. A bow and a quiver full of arrows on her back. She looks down to her hands.]
Oh. No sword, right. Maybe...
[with a flash a sword is generated for her hand.]
To tell the TRUUUUUTH!!
[Rosamund pats it humbly.]
Yes, thank you Veritas. [She looks to Strohl.] Will this do?
veritas. now there's a name - he startles a little when it talks, then laughs, bright. despite that sense of dread, there's nothing that unfamiliar about it: after all, humans are creatures of magla, and the oppressive sense of dread and anxiety that comes from the ink in particular just makes this feel familiar. it's a battlefield of books, and it raises the hairs on the back of his neck in the most delightful way, all adrenaline. ]
Bloody hell. [ the symbols are enunciated - impressed, as he shifts his stance easy, taking his beloved greatsword in both hands. ] Homey place.
[ ha ha. no it's not its terrible.
actually looking at rosamund gets him to do a double take - the look is different, a little body-horror, especially after her memories. some part of him lurches with it, but... at the same time, there's a sort of ferocity to the wildness here. not just overgrowth. something in control. the brief surprise fades to something full of respect, to an excitement that comes from a good sparring partner for a jock.
(it's a little attractive of her, frankly? like, you know. in a platonic way.) ]
Veritas, huh? Truth? I could get behind that - never met one that talked before. [ a hum. ] Let's see. No magical capabilities, only steel. First to five taps wins?
Sorry? I did think about taking you somewhere else, but I didn't want to risk stepping into a siege from a lot of very tiny people who would kill and eat "giants". Or go to Toy Island and risk that Terrible Dogfish coming back again.
[Or dealing with a twenty foot cauldron of boiling soup, or a gargantuan spider-web in pitch darkness, or revisiting the first place she'd been murdered. There really are only unkind battlefields in Neverafter, it's by coincidence that this also awful place might be the most bearable spot for a little sparring. Kabby why don't you just invent a courtyard in her castle SHHT.
She half expects him to shift himself, but he doesn't. Actually, perhaps it's nicer this way? It feels more honest of him, to come and stay as he is. She hadn't intended to take on an older appearance, maybe the room's just reflecting back on her a little too much. As long as it doesn't start summoning surprise enemies?]
He's very good! I mean to uncover the truth, but also to use in combat. He's not mine though. [She looks a little sheepish.] We'll see if I even make it to five taps with a sword, but sure. Sounds good to me.
[Alpha week.
She takes a bow, then assumes proper form. Sword at the ready and determination in her eyes.]
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no subject
Not so thinly at all! You asked me for it yourself, didn't you? I think it's time we made good on our word.
no subject
Glad you remembered! Have you an arena you'd like to simulate for us, then? It'd be an honour to utilise the lady's choice.
no subject
[She will open the simulation doors... to a dizzying sight. Endless books, stacked atop each other, platforms and stairs and pillars of hardcover tomes. Atop the pyramid opposite them stands a grand crystal inkwell. From its mouth an immense swirl of black ink turns in the air. Beholding it lends a sense of existential dread. It's best to keep your eyes elsewhere.
Below the books, there is a roiling magma of torn paper. Lightning crackles through them.
Perish the thought of falling into it. Much like the ink, it's best to avoid them.
When Rosamund steps into this space she becomes as she was in the memory lent to Strohl last week: scarred, in a tattered dress, briars wound around her body. A bow and a quiver full of arrows on her back. She looks down to her hands.]
Oh. No sword, right. Maybe...
[with a flash a sword is generated for her hand.]
To tell the TRUUUUUTH!!
[Rosamund pats it humbly.]
Yes, thank you Veritas. [She looks to Strohl.] Will this do?
no subject
veritas. now there's a name - he startles a little when it talks, then laughs, bright. despite that sense of dread, there's nothing that unfamiliar about it: after all, humans are creatures of magla, and the oppressive sense of dread and anxiety that comes from the ink in particular just makes this feel familiar. it's a battlefield of books, and it raises the hairs on the back of his neck in the most delightful way, all adrenaline. ]
Bloody hell. [ the symbols are enunciated - impressed, as he shifts his stance easy, taking his beloved greatsword in both hands. ] Homey place.
[ ha ha. no it's not its terrible.
actually looking at rosamund gets him to do a double take - the look is different, a little body-horror, especially after her memories. some part of him lurches with it, but... at the same time, there's a sort of ferocity to the wildness here. not just overgrowth. something in control. the brief surprise fades to something full of respect, to an excitement that comes from a good sparring partner for a jock.
(it's a little attractive of her, frankly? like, you know. in a platonic way.) ]
Veritas, huh? Truth? I could get behind that - never met one that talked before. [ a hum. ] Let's see. No magical capabilities, only steel. First to five taps wins?
no subject
She laughs a little, shrugging apologetically.]
Sorry? I did think about taking you somewhere else, but I didn't want to risk stepping into a siege from a lot of very tiny people who would kill and eat "giants". Or go to Toy Island and risk that Terrible Dogfish coming back again.
[Or dealing with a twenty foot cauldron of boiling soup, or a gargantuan spider-web in pitch darkness, or revisiting the first place she'd been murdered. There really are only unkind battlefields in Neverafter, it's by coincidence that this also awful place might be the most bearable spot for a little sparring. Kabby why don't you just invent a courtyard in her castle SHHT.
She half expects him to shift himself, but he doesn't. Actually, perhaps it's nicer this way? It feels more honest of him, to come and stay as he is. She hadn't intended to take on an older appearance, maybe the room's just reflecting back on her a little too much. As long as it doesn't start summoning surprise enemies?]
He's very good! I mean to uncover the truth, but also to use in combat. He's not mine though. [She looks a little sheepish.] We'll see if I even make it to five taps with a sword, but sure. Sounds good to me.
[Alpha week.
She takes a bow, then assumes proper form. Sword at the ready and determination in her eyes.]
At your leisure.