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Ribbon Prancer
a76809
>>22711
[Actually when Goran's soul is active all of Mordre's body, every bit of it, will be able to absorb magic, just like Abaeloth's soul grants omnidirectional matter absorption. But yes, Gravimancy is very handy for BOW BEFORE ME moments.]
>>227074
[Incorrect. One can have multiple masters actually, as to leave most of the more prominent schools, if certain arts or techniques are learned, they cannot be practiced without sworn loyalty to the school the taught them, a veritable soul oath bound by those that teach them. So leaving poses no real threat, as they cannot use or trade the greatest techniques they learned, effectively hobbling themselves as fighters. With a population breadth, and history depth, the Land of Dragons has had chances for several exceptions to these limitations existing, maybe one or two rising up the schools every few decades, Lubu being the last some twenty years ago at the age of fifteen, mastering the ten most famous arts, and somehow avoiding the restrictions to never use the greatest moves again. He rose to Dragon on the fame he gained fighting off the repercussion as outraged master after master sought him out, dying at his hands. Ask him about it sometime, he loves telling the story.]
>>22712
[Vandgurd is number 1 defense, number 2 strength, Zelgoto is number 1 strength, number 2 defense, but at a lower sum of total capacity than Vandgurd on a purely physical standpoint. And Amaranthine Annihilator, when freely foaming under Zagrath's control, can discharge both gems independantly, in opposed directions or whatever. And Abaeloth's soul cannot effect the eyes, unless you could render the eyes a Soul Nexus to then link to the body Soul Nexus, something Kyorto could guide you on how to do.
>>227144
[Interesting new ideas, and the Id/Super-Ego pairing is somewehat close to part of reality, but is a byproduct of other events. All I can say without spoiling it.]
>>227154
[OHYEAHGEETHATISWIERD. Probably completely unrelated to souls being the antithesis of entropy, creation of energy from nowhere, so since energy to matter is demonstrated as possible in the setting via magic, enough soul could be crafted into anything. Yeah, nothing to do with that.]
>>226735
>>226742
>>226744
>>226754
>>226786
>>226795
>>226928
>[GIVE OZ HIS ROOM, MAN]
[No, no single individual spawn was so heavily damaged as to suffer a magical system shock and perish. Several ARE going to take a while to regenerate due to how grievous injuries are, but we're talking minutes. If he had actually been treating them as genuine foes rather than punching a path for himself through the apparent monster horde, there likely would be deaths, from multiple successive blows.]
I set the ground shaking with Geomancy even as I order Phohn to have Sadronm withdraw the spawn, rocky ledges rising around the the two fighters in a wide ring as my own minions draw back, becoming living arena lines to doubly prevent spillover to the immediate surroundings, as I start shifting the earth sideways, taking the shortest exit out of town as the townspeople, those not having already shut their windows long ago, actually follow along, having grown used to the Deep Spawn enough to be more interested in some street brawling, and a great story if nothing else. Nevertheless, after some ten feet of shifting, Bagrom has launched twelve blows at Oz-
Who has taken every one from those glowing titanic gauntlets, his left shoulder and arm soaking the impacts as muscles surge like lazy snakes, legs dig into the ground, and the blows that literally pasted some spawn, are shurgged off, before-
Oz let's out a blast of breath as he swings his arm up in time with an impact, throwing the hand surging skyward in rebound.
Oz's left hand rises like a mountain of lightning, and from the depths of his metal hand of Blood Iron, rises a mass of emerald energy, its raw form immediately recognizable, enough I need not even note my own spell matrices identify the material innately. The soul of Oz's hand rises from his metal prosthetic, ballooning and swelling until it dwarfs even Bagrom's brought weaponry, and I see his face slack for a brief instant.
In that instant Oz's spectral grasp falls about Bagrom's own corporeal one, and metal immediately starts sagging, buckling, crumpling, unable to withstand the might of Oz's soul. But instead of falter as half of his arsenal falls away, the lines anchoring Bagrom to his remaining arm multiply and thicken in a heartbeat, the soft glow about the metal facsimile of a fist becoming as bright as the noon light above, the massive weapon now plummeting as a jade missile towards Oz.
Who simply sets his feet, breaths in, and swings at the incoming mass with his left arm.
The green fist, so massive as to dwarf my own by a factor of five, several tons of metal hurtle at Oz, propeled by gravity and as much energy as Bagrom seems able to muster.
Recieving it is simply Oz, and a rising fist, living Lortoxite clenched in determination.
Just as we reach midway out of town with the sliding pseudo arena, Bagrom's fist shatters, metal flattening forward as it finds its momentum terminally halted as blasts of self-replicating impacts continue to resound, the blows of a hundred strikes imbued in but one punch as the green metal becomes a mound of twisted and compacted detritus. Oz stops at this point, his stance, left arm forward as a long guard before his whole frame, slackening as he stumbles about a bit tugging his feet free of the ground, before he begins slurring angrily.
"Oh thas' it, that right there, why I hate bein' famous. Some guy comes to figh' ya, any time, any place. An' thas' fine, I can handle excitement... but wha, been more than a year since one even trieda keep fighting? That's, that's, that's not fun, eh? Havin' em surrender, no finish, butthey go fer ya whenever they want. Snot fair to a law abidin' citizen, issit? Go fer ya throat, but ifn' they stop, you gotta too, even 'f they attacked you again, already, or summat. Because rules on challalla... chanall... fights against those bettr'then ya, thes' fine, encouraged when against those, those that're above a certain rank, an' gettin' named God of the Fist put me up there with Dragons."
As Oz speaks, I see Bagrom sagging to his knees, hands at his sides, twisted and broken in some sort of recoil from, body twitching as the cords once anchored in those floating fists rebound and recoil into him, blood rising as they pass through his flesh, their passage rotting the skin away. But though he grits his teeth, the warrior says nothing staring at Oz as if at a god, his very stare, so full of supplication, seems to imply genuflection with naught aid but slumped, slack shoulders. Oz stumbles on in his rant, determined to carry his thought through, as if in defiance of his now infernal level of inebriation.
"So, let me, lemme guess, you wanna be my pupil now, izzat it? Want to learn from my side, huh?"
"I... Yes, great o-"
"SEE, I KNEW IT! Thas' ALWAYS wha' happens. Well then, monk, monk, monk....."
"Bagro-"
"IKNOWYERNAME! Now, now, monk Bagron, do ya actually intend to pay?"
The kneeling Bagrom, hands slowly being worked and straightened by each other's mangled grasp in an effort to reset the fractured bones within as his face only twinging periodically, grunts out a hesitant reply, his face to difficult to read through the pain he is masking. Townspeople begin clustering in closer, but my field of Deep Spawn keeps them from earshot, for all but Oz's most prolific comments, midway down the roads the vendors seem to favor, sales still happening about us, crying of wares still present. I find myself amidst not a sea, but a lake of people about me, yet this exchange seems as if just for me-
Dulu shifts beside me as he speaks to Keddic in a whisper lost to the relative din as Bargom vocalizes.
"..I, do not understan-"
Oz sighs, as he works his right hand, the faded gargantuan spirit still leaving a thin steam rising from the Blood Iron limb in passing, as the Left Handed God of the Fist keeps speaking.
"Look, I'll be honest. I got, I got nuthin' right now. I got no dojo, no students, an no family now either. So unless you can tell me ya have enough money to, to have a roof, some place to teach, tuititi... tuiui... money for learnin', I don-"
"I do!"
Oz's drunken ramblings pull up short as it encounters what it did not expect, reality defying its expected progression as Bagrom gingerly unties one of several pouches about his waist sash, and tosses the soft bag to Oz, wincing as he works his mangled hands. Oz catches the projectile, and clumsily spills scores of heavy gold coins, several set with gems, into his over-sized left palm. And atop it all, a ring, wide and heavy, some sort of bird picked out in blue and yellow gem studding. Oz murmurs to himself, just barely missing looking hilarious as he struggles to gain sobriety to focus on something important.
"..Alright, alright, so that explains the thing, about bein' a Jade Soul, an'not."
>"..I, what?"
"Come off it, like the other Jade Soul monks, the same, blah-dee-bah? Ya did notice how nearly everyone else practisisis... uses the core Jade Soul style, an' nuthin' else? I bet you were pretty, uh, whassa word... right, really rare, even in big school, right, with the floating fists, an' not wearin' traditional robes?"
>"..It is true I did not meet others willing to experiment with the style-"
"See? Knewit, that ol' Elder Master Hui, 'e don't approve of, of, differences, that much. An', the core style's the only one, with, with hidden techniques, the Master stuff. So ya.. ya topped out then, I bet. Without some real, real involved stuff to learn, use as a framework, or summat, you can't make yer fists better, 'ts what yer thinkin, isn't it?"
Even though the pain, I see Bagrom's face slackening in utter shock, pain taking a back seat to simple reaction, and he likely would have stayed this way for some time, if Oz hadn't been too impatient.
"Well, izzit?"
>"!... Yes, yes it.. its true. But how did yo-"
"'Sthat old Hui, he's been like this... for, for what, decades? 'Snot like it takes a genus... geins... genius to figure out, some guy that different, an' still a Jade Soul monk, gotta have, have a family backin'. And there it is, Tyotworro clan. Tha's some heavy money..."
And finally Bagrom begins to regain momentum.
>"Yes, yes it is, and if you agree to teach me, I can get you-"
"WAIT! HOLLONASECOND!!"
>"..I, what?"
"Can't jus' do it, jus' like that! Gotta, gotta prove yer willin' to learn! Not gonna have some half-assed students, not a chance."
>"....What must I do?"
At this, Oz, completely wrapped up in his exchange with Bagrom, myself, Keddic and Dulu all thoroughly absorbed in this lengthy exchange, all take note of the slow, wide smile growing on Oz's face.
"Pick an arm, an' hold it out, arm straight, an' don't move. Do that, an' yer my pupil."
>"Hold out my arm?"
"Thas' right. Can't move it thought, that's importat... important."
Bagrom's face goes completely dead still, and I see him come to some inner resolution and realization simultaneously, as he proffers forth his right hand.
"...'S a good choice. Watch yer tongue."
Oz's left hand slams downward, it's straightened fingers revealing an edge worked along the side of the oversized hand, and without a whisper of combat magic reacting, Oz's left hand cleaves off Bagrom's right at the elbow, as the warrior bucks briefly, body spasming, before he slowly lowers his arm, and stares at Oz, whose face is split wide by a craggy smile.
"'N there it is then, yer a pupil then, Bagrom. ...Here, keep this."
Oz tosses back the pouch with naught but the ring and a single coin in it, as he pockets the glittering denomination, breathing deeply as he looks about at my Deep Spawn, before looking back to me. I realize I halted the move of our arena during this exchange, and we still stand in the midst of the merchant's area. Oz' stomach grumbles, and he looks to me with a magnanimous grin.
"You got the wine, an' the fight... I got the food, I think, yes!"
And so Oz wanders away to buy food, money bag jingling as he slips between Vandgurd and Zelgoto, in search of sustenance.
Leaving Bagrom alone with me and mine, the orbiting ring of forty one Deep Spawn eggs revolving like a possessed set of massive prayer beads, as if my immobile, cross-legged metal form were some stern statue, the Deep Spawn all about likewise not moving even to breathe or shift, only Keddic betraying movement.
What should I say or do?
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