Chronicles of The Omniverse Archived Lutetia City: Valentine Park

as written by Script

Inarin continued to hold Jimmy as he cried, stifling tears of his own out of empathy. After a few minutes, one of the paramedics approached them, with the goal of taking Jimmy to the hospital. Inarin raised his head to look up at the older boy, taking in his wounds.

"You need to get your injuries looked at," he said softly. "You're bleeding pretty badly. I'll go with you, i-if you want, but please let them take care of you."

In the meantime, Valére turned to fix Virn with an icy stare. He hadn't missed the paladin's callous words before, and the disdain was evident in his gaze. Al too turned to regard him coldly, whether it was because of what he'd said the previous day, or simply because he was following his brother's cue.

"What's it to you?" Valére asked with a standoffish sneer.
 
as written by Ronin

"It was well done," Jonas nodded to the young necromancer, his voice devoid of any inkling of praise or warmth despite the compliment he was rendering. Either Virn didn't notice the venom in Val's tone, or he didn't care. "You saved the proselyte's life, very likely. How..." A curt chuckle, his handsome face drawn into a grin. "...amusing." He ran a hand through his flaxen hair and swept his bangs. "Good to know there's some use for your 'arts'." That said, the paladin walked off - pressed red cape fluttering behind him.

The paramedics were trying to help Jimmy onto a gurney. "We need to get him to the hospital as soon as possible," one of them saying, "the longer he goes without treatment, the greater risk of infection."

One of the EMT's looked at Inarin, overhearing how the boy had offered to come with James. "You comin' or not? We gotta move."
 
as written by Faithy

Even as they tried to coax him to get his injuries looked at, Jimmy didn’t want to go to the hospital. He didn’t want to leave his now dead father. The man that would rather cross a busy road than speak with his own flesh and blood, but was still family. Frowning, the Proselyte fought to stop crying, but it was proving to be most difficult. After a few more minutes, he finally glanced over towards Inarin and just nodded.

“…Please…? I mean… only if you aren’t busy… with plans already. I don’t want to ruin anything.” Jimmy barely got his words out before he returned his gaze towards the werewolf, finding it quite ironic how he wanted to meet and talk with one only to nearly end up mauled. He wanted to wake up from this nightmare, to sit up in his bed, sweating profusely, but no matter how many times he pinched himself, he remained in this hellish nightmare.

“…They aren’t going to just burn him up are they…? He’ll get a proper burial in our family plot…?” Jimmy almost fought to get over to the beast, but just allowed the paramedics to load him onto a gurney. Was he infected now…? Would he become what his father did and end up killed in the same cruel manner? He hoped not.

“Hey Val…? Thanks.” Jimmy smiled faintly over towards where Valére was at before just looking down at his hands.
 
as written by Script

"O-of course I'll come with you," Inarin answered, smiling weakly and squeezing Jimmy's arm. "And I- I'll call my brother, and make sure he makes sure that he sorts out a proper burial."

Valére's expression didn't shift as Virn spoke, though Al's scowl deepened. Neither boy said anything further, simply staring until the man walked away. When he did, Val extracted himself from his brother with a few murmured words, and made his way over to Jimmy and Inarin.

"There's no need to thank me," he said, returning the faint smile. "Thank Inarin. I would have still been frozen in indecision when it mattered, if it weren't for him."

Inarin reddened slightly at this, shaking his head dismissively. "It's not l-like I had a plan, or anything. It was stupid."

"You're not wrong," Val answered with a smirk. "But isn't that you guys' jobs? Charge into danger selflessly? Paladin or not, I'd say that's kinda stupid. Noble, but stupid, from a survival viewpoint." He shook his head, before placing a hand on Inarin's shoulder. "You're going with him?"

Inarin hesitated for a moment, then nodded his head.

"Good. You should. We can hang out some other time." He leaned in for a moment to stage-whisper. "Between you and me, I don't think Al's going to let me more than ten feet away for the rest of the day, after that."

The joke prompted a small laugh. "Th-thanks, Val. For everything." Inarin paused to quickly slip his arms around Val for a hug, before hurrying after the paramedics and Jimmy.

As they grew distant, Alvére came up alongside his brother, raising a questioning eyebrow. "You're not going soft on me, are you Val?"

Val laughed, shooting his twin a sidelong glare. "Maybe a little, Al. Maybe a little."
 
as written by Ronin

The paramedics whisked Jimmy and Inarin away, along with any other wounded from the carnage. Police officers remained on scene to tend to any other affairs ... including draping the mangled body of James Ó’Suaird with a large tarp. Around the scene, nervous citizens murmured to one another, many of them packing up for the day and heading home. The monster had been slain, but the damage had been done. Not even the Aurellae was safe from the horrors of the dark.
 
as written by Ronin

They had cancelled the cooking tourney. They had cancelled nearly everything till tomorrow. The Aurellae packed up hours before dusk on its second day, vendors and shopkeepers closing their stalls. A nervous-looking clergyman announced the news from a stage in the center of the festival where a local rock band had been playing not a moment ago.

"In light of today's tragic events," his lips pressed together, "we feel it would be... be best to shut things down for the rest of the day." Silence from the gathered crowd, neither approving nor disappointed. "The Order will see to the affairs around the park and ensure things are safe for ah. For tomorrow." He nodded, swallowing. The faces in the crowd were pensive and confused. Not an hour ago this was the happiest place in the city. If something as atrocious as a werewolf rampage could happen in the Aurellae, of all places, where were they safe?

The clergyman read their expressions, a low sigh escaping him as he realized he could think of nothing to relieve their fears. The attack had been stopped quickly, but it had still happened. They were all vulnerable. They knew it ... he too, knew it. He cleared his throat, doing his best to keep the fear lingering in his thoughts from entering his voice. "Things. Things should resume normally tomorrow." A pause. The crowd remained still. "Ah. Until then, our ah. Our thoughts and prayers are with-"

"Prayer." A strong voice cut through the drone of the microphone. "That's what we need right now, clergyman."

Scores of eyes turned to a tall, broad-shouldered gentleman assuming the stage, many of them alighting in recognition. Theodore Arodring. A respected inquisitor, now retired. He was a frequent guest speaker at many Lutetian congregations, and his book, 'City of Light', had been a bestseller for nearly four months. All that aside, he was a celebrity by name alone - an Arodring. Like the Nuvellons and the Lacroixs. He was the patriarch of one of Lutetia's most respected families.

He walked the stage and extended his hand towards the microphone. "If I may." The clergyman hesitated for a moment before handing it over. "Thank you." He turned to face the people, brows knit.

"Light be with you, friends and family," he touched two fingers to his lips. Some among the crowd murmured the traditional response, 'and also with you', perhaps by habit alone. Theodore's words were booming even without amplification. He needed only the barest volume to send his speech across the park, his voice deep and oiled and warm. "I feel it prudent to close this evening in prayer, if I may indulge this good congregation to bow their heads with me."

Small confusions and hesitations. This was a festival, not a church. The setting was off; people had come here to celebrate, not worship. That said, the timing couldn't be more prudent. After the horrors of the evening, what harm could there be in letting things close on a lighter, more hopeful note? Gradually, heads began to lower, eyes closing shut.

Arodring smiled. "Thank you." He drew a breath, eyes focusing in the distance for a moment before his lids ensconced them. He began to pray.

"God. Elueu. We come before you, humbled, grieving and confused. We cannot begin to understand the death witnessed this evening, nor comprehend the hate, the senseless evil that compels such creatures to insanity and violence. In this dark hour, we lift our voices to your flame, to the Wick, and pray for the souls of the dead, that they might find peace in your love. We pray for them and all like them. We pray for the Nuvellons, God. For the Lumenia victims. For those slaughtered in your home, in a place of holy worship. We pray for them all, Elueu. Give them peace and rest. Let their souls shine in your light."

A quiet murmurings of assent from the crowd.

"We are frightened, God. There is no shame in admitting it. The Wyrm is terrifying and incomprehensible, its agents pitiless and cruel. In the face of such monstrosities, it is the nature of man to turn away. To run. Hide. Shut ourselves away behind lock doors and ignore the world and its problems. As the darkness encloses around us, give us strength, God. Turn our thoughts away from cowardice, from notions of sanctuary and quietude. Open our eyes to the evil festering in our beloved city. Undeafen our ears to the cries of injustice and anguish resonating around us. Show us the light, Elueu."

Another agreement, louder this time - cries of 'amen' and 'light fall upon us'.

"Let us remember, God, your promise to us, the words of your daughter, Saint Selene, as she stood before the heathen hordes on the foundations of this very city. Against odds insurmountable, against evil incarnate, she spoke to her ragtag army of refugees and survivors, spoke through their fear, through their apprehensions. 'The Light shall overcome', she told them. And it did. You repeat these words to us, Elueu, you whisper it to our heart of hearts. When the darkness threatens to consume us, when the claws of the Wyrm writhes around us, we hear them, whispered from the flame of the Wick, from the undying light kindled in the soul of man: 'The Light shall overcome'. And it will."

Cheers now, vigorous approbations alight with passion and vigor. 'The light!' Someone roared. Another quoted scripture, 'The Wick is with us, what shall come against us?'

"Give us the light, God! In these dark times, give us the strength to resist fear, to stand firm against the Wyrm, to put our faith in your promise and fear no darkness. By the Holy Wick, by Saint Selene, we ask only this - for the strength to believe in the promise of your glory, in the power you have invested in all mankind!" His eyes opened, eyes set aflame with cool, blue fire. "In her name, amen."

The ensuing 'amen' was deafening. Applause erupted from the crowd, cheers and cries of fervor and faith. Arodring raised his hand, a smile playing out from his salted beard. "Light be with you, my brothers and sisters. I will see you tomorrow. Go with the Wick."
 
as written by Script

The third day of the Aurellae was well underway. Though attendance was a little less than expected, owing to the deaths the day before, many considered the sparring tournament to be one of the highlights of the festival. To see the church's finest in action was a rare treat for the civilian populace - or at least, to see them in action without there being some sort of disaster. At least here, the crowds were just as thick as ever - the stands were packed, the front rows lined with supportive families and church officials.

As with the other tournaments, the day had begun with the younger bracket. Several matches had already taken place, pitting proselytes against fencers from the Lacroix Academy, and other hopefuls of all varieties from across the city. In the majority of cases, the proselytes came out the victors. The benefits of training from such a young age were plainly apparent - for all that it came with a significant trade-off.

"Next up we have Inarin Nuvellon, proselyte of the monastic order, against Auden Blanc, student of St. Sirene's School."

A low murmur ran through the crowd as the participants in the next match were announced, prompting Florianne to purse her lips from her position in the stands. The Nuvellon name had been in the headlines enough lately that even those who normally paid no mind to Lutetia's old families knew it. She could make out the couple next to her whispering their surprise that Inarin was taking part in the tournament, 'considering'.

In truth, Inarin hadn't signed up to the tournament until after the events of the previous week. When Florianne had questioned it, the only answer he'd been able to provide had been that he felt he couldn't afford to shy away from such things any more. Still, if nothing else, preparing for his match today had kept his mind occupied. She only hoped that he would not regret his decision. It would be the first time that she had seen her younger nephew in action, and if she was honest, she wasn't sure what to expect.

As the two fighters took their place in the ring, she paused in her thoughts to raise a hand and wave to him, letting out a raucous cheer that somewhat startled the couple from before.

___

Florianne's yell reached Inarin's ears, and he turned to face her with a smile of acknowledgement, reddening slightly (though thankfully it was difficult to tell beneath the helmet). She certainly possessed a powerful set of lungs, though it was the first time he'd heard her put them to such use.

He watched with a grin as she settled back into her seat, adjusting her dress and clearing her throat, before he turned his attention back to his opponent.

Auden was a tall boy, a good head taller than he was, and fairly well built. As Inarin recalled, St. Sirene's was a high school out in Merveilleux, but he knew little about it beyond that. As the two met in the center of the ring to shake hands, Inarin flashed a warm smile to him.

"Good luck," he offered politely, bowing his head slightly.

Auden, who had been surveying his opponent with a dubious frown, quickly flashed a smile in return. "Ah, you too, mate."

Just from watching Auden as they each stepped back to take their positions for the match's start, Inarin could tell that the slightly older boy hadn't received the same training that he had. His stance was off, his feet ever so slightly too close together, and his weapon held both too close to centre and angled too far down.

Inarin raised his own weapon, an arming sword designed to be wielded both one and two-handed, settling himself into a textbook-perfect plow stance, sword angled upwards from his hip to point towards Auden's chest.

"You know the rules," the referee stated as he stepped back. "It's a freeform spar till I deem a fatal or crippling blow to have been dealt. No strikes to the face, and remember that this is a spar - hitting your opponent harder doesn't mean you win more. Discipline and control are as important as strength and technique."

Both boys nodded in acknowledgement, and so the referee raised his hand. "Alright... en garde!"

____

Off to the side of the ring, a few of the other participants in the tournament were gathered in a sectioned off area. Some tents had been erected for them to don or doff their armour, and there were a few benches where they could rest and watch the other matches. It wasn't a particularly formal arrangement, but it was a festival - such was to be expected.

As Inarin and Auden's fight began, Aurelion watched with a furrowed brow, watching his brother's footwork intently. "Good," he murmured as Inarin went on the attack, "good form. Well executed, but... a little predictable."

"Your brother is..." Beside him, Noah was also observing the fight. He hesitated before continuing, and Aurelion glanced his way.

"Better than you were expecting?" He interjected, raising an eyebrow.

"... well, yes. By his appearance, I would not have thought... but I suppose I am a hypocrite in that assumption. I am not so intimidating myself."

"I'm afraid so, my friend." Aurelion smirked as he turned his attention back to the spar. "Everyone assumes In's got no fight in him. Even he does. But when it comes down to it, he's a lot better than he thinks he is. His biggest problem is that everything he does is by the book. Executed almost flawlessly, but anyone who's studied sword forms would be able to predict him easily. He just needs to spend more time practicing, till he can act more intuitively. He thinks a little too much."

Noah nodded, observing what Aurelion described in practice. Auden seemed to be getting into a rhythm of parrying or avoiding Inarin's attacks, though the proselyte still held the advantage for the time being. He moved with calculated precision, each step and strike placed down like a piece on a chessboard. Auden's every move had an answer, and if there was one thing that Inarin was good at, it was getting the answer right.

But as Aurelion had observed, there were moments where he over-thought. He left gaps, exploitable by a more capable swordsman, where he took a split second to decide on the appropriate form to take or swing to make. Thankfully, Auden was not that swordsman. Though he was holding Inarin off, he wasn't familiar enough with formal sword forms to formulate a strategy on the fly to turn Inarin's apparent predictability against him.

It seemed that it wouldn't be long before the young proselyte landed a deciding blow.

____

"He's actually..."

"...pretty good, huh?"

In the stands, Al and Val exchanged a glance, raising their eyebrows. "Never would've thought the little guy had it in him," Al remarked, grinning. "I guess even the adorable little proselytes are adorable little killing machines."

"He's certainly full of surprises," Val noted. "But I think we figured that out when he threw himself, unarmed, into the path of a mad werewolf."

"Yeah... that took a certain amount of balls. Or a certain lack of survival instincts," Al remarked dryly. "But I guess we can give him the benefit of the doubt and say it was both."

"Did you see who he's up against if he wins, though?" Val frowned.

"Captain Closet Case, right?"

"Assuming the brute wins his match, then yes. I'm not sure... how that's going to go down." Either Izaic would be thrown so off of his game that there'd be an upset, or... things were likely to go fairly poorly for Inarin.

"What I'd give to be a fly on the wall when he finds out... Wonder if he's already here? We should keep an eye out for him, I'm sure we can find ways to mess with him without getting caught." Al grinned, nudging Val. "Reckon you can get a smooch from the kid while the big guy's watching?"

"It's not outside the realms of possibility..." Valére smirked. "But we'll have to see", he noted in a pointedly non-committal fashion. He was growing less fond of the idea of messing with Inarin to get back at Izaic by the day. Still, if In enjoyed himself... he'd just have to be careful not to mislead him.

While the twins continued to muse on potential plans to cause trouble, the spar went on.
 
as written by glmstr

The soft shuffling of clothes and clicking of metal reminded those nearby one of the changing tents that there was in fact somebody inside it. The occupant, young Camille Lacroix, finished tightening the straps and clasps that kept his asymmetrical breastplate to his torso. The piece of armor seemed perfectly tailored to his body, multiple segmented steel plates protecting his right side while only the leather and kevlar jacket underneath covered the rest of him. The plates, almost resembling scales, were designed to defend from many small weapons and small-caliber firearms, and at the very least soften the blow of more heavy-duty attacks.

At the bottom of the cuirass, connected to the armor piece by an attached belt, a long skirt flowed down to just above his ankles. A slit ran up his left leg, in order to guarantee easy movement. While mostly for elegance, the garment had another use: it obscured the movements of his legs to make his footwork vastly harder to watch and predict. Below the royal-blue and gold-embroidered fabric were a set of similarly colored pants, with somewhat fluted greaves covering his legs and feet.

Next came the bracers, ornate steel arm guards that reached from his elbow to his wrist to protect his forearms without sacrificing mobility in the joints on either end.

Finally were the gauntlets, small scale-like plates contoured and bended with the proselyte's hand to restrict the finer motions of his hands as little as possible.

When Camille emerged, he seemed to belong in a painting. The feminine and youthful Lacroix now carried a commanding sense of dignity, honor and grace. The carefully tailored uniform and armor were practically works of art themselves, not to mention the gleaming estoc hanging on a loop at his hip, and the parrying dagger held in a scabbard on the other.

Outside the tent, Lucas Lacroix watched his son exit the tent and smiled. Pangs of joy ran through his aging heart as he saw his son carry himself with such confidence, such dignity. No longer did he hear the snide remarks and condescending pleasantries. No longer was his beloved Camille 'too feminine' or 'not strong enough'. Instead, the embittered noble saw one thing: a young man with burning ferocity, stalwart bravery, yet tempered with elegance and grace.

He saw a Lacroix.
 
as written by Emperor Jester

Izaic sat alone, surrounded by only his own thoughts as he went over in his head the events that could play out today. He'd found an isolated spot where he could be alone with no other task other than whetting his blade over and over again. While it was true this wouldn't be the blade he'd be using in his matches today, he couldn't help but bring it with him. The broad-bladed zweihander had been a gift, a tailor made present from his mentor. The only person it seemed he could trust.

Trust. He was finding it harder and harder to accept such a notion into his heart. The speech that Dufort had given him had put him on the road to change. Thinking about it, and the events of prior days...

A horrendous sound of stone on metal, angry and harsh, overly quick. It drowned out the noise of the Proselyte grinding his teeth in frustration.

No. None of them were proving to be worth it. He'd tried things Estelle's way, and it'd brought him nothing but more rage. Kurtrin had said so during one of their recent sparing matches. That his pupil seemed mad, much more than usual. Izaic had left their match early and returned to his room to sulk, proving the old man's point. A glance to the sparring blade, a claymore with an augmented grip and weighted core. Heavier than normal, but still within the realms of legality. Of course, this was all assuming he'd be able to use his own piece, one he was familiar with.

He'd look up then, to see The Golden striding towards him with a huge smile, and two men behind him, moving a large crate only slightly wider and taller than Izaic himself. He stood to rise, confused, but then he remembered what the old man had promised him on his last birthday...

- - - - - - - - - -

He'd come to watch the fights, the ones before his own, to scope out his opponents. There, at the edge of the crowd, stood Izaic Swigelf , gleaming and bold. His long time mentor had kept his word. If they were both alive and if Izaic had never let him down as a student, than on the year he took his Oaths, he'd be given a set of of armor of his own design. His claymore and zweihander both hung strapped to his back in their respective sheaths.

Truly, there was a lot to say about how well he wore the plate and mail protections, and the young warrior looked freshly groomed as well. It seemed that today, his prowess was not the only thing the proselyte wished to show off.
 
as written by Krysis

Unlike her male counter-parts, Celeste's armor was very modern and shabby. The female proselyte had made parts of it herself, since she was shorter and smaller than the average paladin and the standard suits didn't quite fit. Plastic, padding, and a sheet of metal on top was the structure of the various plates that weren't painted or decorated at all.

The helmet was church-made, standard, and hung from her belt as she watched Inarin's match from the edge of the ring. This time, her eldest sister was standing with her. Liz was happy with silence, wearing a dreamy smile as she leaned on Celeste's shoulder and kept her arm around the younger woman's waist. Beside them, baby Anna slept in a stroller.

Behind them, Adam and Marie were chasing each other around with plastic weapons. Marie was squealing in delight and Adam occasionally shouted when his little sister got in a lucky blow. He knew better than to try to hit her like she was hitting him, though he was holding his own pretty well.

After a few minutes of watching Inarin, Celeste shrugged her shoulder to dislodge Liz. "Surprised you are here today, after what happened yesterday."

Liz gave a sigh as she straightened up and stretched luxuriously, "Got tired of listening to the boys gripe about the cooking contest being canceled. They decided to drink their supplies last night."

"Whiskey or bourbon?" Celeste asked with a wry smile.

"Both. Beer too. More alcohol. Hangovers this morning. Hey, it looks like your friend is going to win." Liz observed in the same cheerful, empty tone, as if it was all part of the same thought.

"Inarin is pretty good. He needs to stop worrying about it and just follow his instincts." Celeste smiled at Liz, then lifted her hand in greeting to a couple of acquaintances.
 
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as written by Script

"Good morning, Celeste."

Luca offered his classmate a smile as he approached her and her sister. Like Celeste, Luca's armour was far from resplendent. He was clad in a set of standard plate, albeit mismatched in places. As most paladins had their armour forged for them upon their taking of the silver, that which was available for proselytes was generally specifically designed for sparring. It was padded, as opposed to kevlar-lined, and less protective than a real suit. It was designed to emulate the feel of plate armour so that the students could learn to fight in it, whilst being less expensive to produce.

Despite the somewhat hodge-podge nature of his gear, Luca wore it well. Tall, straight-backed and dignified, he carried himself with grace and poise. The very picture of a paladin-to-be.

"And you must be one of her sisters?" He inclined his head to Liz politely. "It's a pleasure. My name is Luca."
 
as written by Faithy

Despite the hospital not knowing whether or not he would contract the infection from the claws and bite he garnered from his father, Jimmy was released to deal with the aftereffects of the previous day. He hadn’t contacted anyone, not even Inarin and ended up taking a cab back to the Monastery. While he had been in the hospital, after In left him for the final time his father’s lawyer appeared to let him know what the will stated. Like he figured, James left absolutely nothing to him and ordered that everything in the house be donated to the Church and what couldn’t to be sold and the money donated. The only thing that wasn’t to be sold or donated were pictures of Nicole and those were to be given to Jimmy. The twenty-year-old was to be left with nothing, his father no doubt assuming that the Church would take care of him. What bitter sweet irony life was at times.

As the cab returned him to the only place he knew as home, the male wondered what his life was going to be like from this moment on. Thankfully, he had been saving up the money he had been gathered over the years, but he doubted it was enough to actually live decently. He would have to get a job and h wasn’t quite sure how that would go. It wasn’t like he had a complete education or anything. Sure, he could ask Inarin for help through his aunt, but he didn’t really want to do that either. Speaking on the younger Proselyte, Jim hoped he got back in time to see In’s match. Sliding what money he had in his pocket over to the driver, he slid out of the car and moved through the gates, making his way over to where the matches were taking place.

“…good, he’s still in his match.” Jimmy purposely kept himself from everyone and found a tree to lean again, watching Inarin and the male he was battling.
 
as written by Ronin

If Celeste and Luca were modestly dressed, then Aaro was an entirely different caliber of the word. The slacker proselyte had, as usual, waited until the last minute to requisition armor from Romstone. The resulting equipment he'd managed to scrounge together was mismatched to an almost humorous degree. Boiled leather pauldrons of different sizes strapped his shoulders and were held to his breastplate by a network of makeshift corded tethers. The plated bracer on his left arm was so big that it almost a buckler. A skirt of close-fitting mail protected his lower half to the knee and jingled as he walked. His right greave was literally just two pieces of tough leather duck taped around a soccer shinguard.

"Afternoon', peasants," he waltzed up to Celeste and Lucas with a smug grin. "Feel free to admire." He struck a noble pose, chin-held high, and rested his helmet on his hip. It was an older model of a standard-issue paladin helm, back when they sill used half-mask armets instead of temper-glass shaded visors.

He looked out into the arena. "Say, Inarin's really giving it to him, huh? It's easy to forget how good a swordsman he is." He rolled one of his shoulders forward. "Unless you've fought him before, it's hard to keep pace with a form like that."

He looked about himself warily. "Izaic's around here, right? And Camille? I haven't heard who I'm fighting yet. Hoping it's neither of those two." He grinned. "Wouldn't mind losing to you two chumps, on the other hand. Lucas would at least finish me quickly, and you, Celeste, would probably entertain the crowds with me for a few rounds."

He laughed again, but his mirth seemed less enthusiastic as he scanned the line of participants again, pondering over the face that wasn't present. Jimmy. He hadn't been able to visit him last night, but Aaro knew all about the werewolf attack. He was thankful that his friend was okay, but was more than a bit frightened at the possible ramifications of a werewolf infection. First Inarin's parents were killed, then Jim's dad goes wolf and gets gunned down in the park. Had going to rave affected some sort of curse on the proselyte friend group?

"Has the tournament pairings been posted yet?" Aaro asked, biting on the inside of his cheek. "Wick guide me, I got no idea where I'm supposed to check these things."
 
as written by Krysis

Liz inclined her head towards Luca with that same empty smile. It changed the gesture that would ordinarily be gracious to something as meaningless as the expression on a doll. "Yes, I am 'Leste's sister." She stopped there, as if that was all she needed to say.

Celeste gave a wry smile as she watched Liz. The brunette girls did look rather similar, but Liz had a softness and vulnerability about her that Celeste never had. After waiting for an uncomfortable beat of silence, the female proselyte gave a chuckle and grinned at Luca.

"You look good in armor, Luca. It's a shame that I'm going to have to dent you up." Celeste winked to show she was mostly teasing, though the wicked-looking axe leaning nearby begged to differ.

Her eyes widened as she noticed Aaro's armor and she seemed to be unable to formulate her response.

Liz had no such problem, giving a puzzled frown, "You're going to get hurt. You shouldn't participate." She bent then and tended to the baby that was starting to wake up in the stroller. Little Anna had been fine when Luca was talking, but Aaro's more exuberant tones made her give a discontented sound and start to struggle to sit up.

"Yeah, Aaro. And I think you are up against Camille. The pairings are posted in the usual place." Celeste shook her head slowly, frankly amazed at Aaro's lack of organization. "At least Camille will be stabbing at your center mass, where you actually have some protection."
 
as written by Script

"Well, thank you." Luca smiled slightly bashfully at Celeste's words, rubbing at the back of his head. Rumours travelled fast in the Monastery's small community of proselytes, and it hadn't just been Celeste's family that had seen her intimacy with Arien and one of the Castellane twins yesterday. It made Luca a little more conscious of the compliment's potential implications than he otherwise would ever have considered, to know that Celeste had become quite so ... bold.

"I'm looking forward to our match, dents or not. It's been a long time since Brother Daviau's classes on combating alternative weapons. I expect to learn a lot, whether I win or lose."

As Aaro approached, Luca turned to regard him with a raised eyebrow. "As oblivious as ever, I see, Aaro," he remarked, folding his arms. "But yes, you are matched against Camille. I'm sorry to say that for once even he has more appropriate attire than you."

Shaking his head, he turned back to the match, which seemed set to end in the next minute or so. Auden was clearly on his last legs.
 
as written by Ronin

Aaro startled. "Camille?" His shoulders slumped. "Great. Just great. My first match and I'm going up against the Lacroix golden child. You saw what he did to Abel yesterday! I'll be lucky if I lose with some of my dignity intact."

He shot Celeste a chiding look. "And I'm not gonna get hurt, Cel, I'm padded beneath this plate. Short of anyone cutting my head off, I think I'll be fine." He adjusted a strap on his arm. "Only person I would really feel dangerous around is Izaic, anyhow. Still not sure why the Council let him compete today." He winced. "Arm and collarbone is still a bit sore..."
 
as written by Script

Auden retreated back away from Inarin as the smaller boy thrust his blade forwards in an attempt at striking beneath his arm. Though both combatants had landed strikes already, all had been effectively deflected off of their plate. Once more, they faced off with a few paces distance between them.

Lowering his blade into a defensive cross stance, his palm on the flat of the blade, Inarin slowly advanced, looking to give Auden the next move. His opponent had his blade tilted down and forwards, a balanced stance, but his body language seemed to suggest he was looking to go on the aggressive.

The proselyte's patience was rewarded, as Auden stepped quickly forwards and brought his blade up in an attempt at a high strike to Inarin's neck-guard. He reacted in time, bringing his own sword up to deflect the thrust to the side using the flat of the blade. The additional leverage from his palm allowed him to follow through, pushing the edge of his own weapon forwards and around into Auden's neck. It was only a light touch, as Inarin was careful not to put more force in it than necessary to connect the strike, but it was enough to demonstrate victory had the spar been real combat.

"Lethal strike!" The referee yelled out, stepping forwards. "Disengage!"

Both boys stepped back, Auden sighing heavily and letting his weapon droop to his side. Inarin was beaming with pride beneath his helmet, as the referee raised a hand towards him. "Inarin Nuvellon is the victor!"

The crowd cheered their praises, and for once, Inarin wasn't blushing at the attention. Yet, anyway. Or if he was, it would've been hard to distinguish from his being red-faced from heat. He sheathed his sword and stepped forwards to shake Auden's hand.

"You're crazy, little guy," the larger boy murmured, his helmet already off. "You beat me good. Congrats."

"Thanks," Inarin smiled. "You were good, too."

After a moment more, they separated, and Inarin ran from the ring to where Aurelion was waiting, pulling his helmet off as he went. "I actually won!" he exclaimed gleefully.

"What did I tell you, huh? Haven't you learned yet I'm always right?" Leon grinned, ruffling Inarin's slightly damp hair and pulling him into a one-armed hug - made slightly awkward by the fact that they were both wearing plate armour, but not lacking for enthusiasm regardless.

"It was very well done, Inarin," Noah smiled to the younger boy. "If nothing else, the Monastery teaches you proselytes to fight well."

Inarin laughed, shaking his head. "I'm not even that good. Just wait till Izaic's and Celeste's matches. They're much better than me."

____

In the stands, the twins' cheers had joined the rest of the crowd's when Inarin landed the winning strike. Watching as he left the ring to speak with his brother, they exchanged a glance and a grin.

"Want to go say hi?" Al suggested.

"You took the words from my mouth. I can see Celeste down there as well, and Aaro. I don't recognise the other two."

Together, they rose from their seats and started down, making a beeline for where the contestants were gathering.
 
as written by Faithy

Jimmy started to move towards the others, having spotted Aaro and Celeste with Luca, but the addition of another person and a stroller kept him from moving. The events of the previous day played through his mind and he realized just how close his father had been to not only slaughtering Inarin and Valére, but a bunch of kids too. Sighing, he returned his attention towards the match and grinned when Inarin won it.

“Knew you had it in you, kid.” Jimmy finally shoved away from the tree, having grown exhausted just standing there. He needed to make it to the stands and sit down before he ended up sitting down in the grass, the viewpoint would end up being mighty crappy if that happened.

“Well, there’s Al and Val…” Shaking his head, Jimmy paused in the middle of his walking, not sure if he wanted to go say hi to Aaro, Celeste, and Luca, go say hi to Inarin, Leon, and the twins, or just go sit down. He still had the mindset that none of them, aside from In would even want to be near him all things considering.
 
as written by Script

"Hey, Jimmy."

A familiar voice interrupted Jimmy's decision making, as Arien stepped into view from the crowd. The auburn-haired teen flashed a smile to him, though it quickly faded to be replaced with a look of concern. "Long time no see, huh? You're looking a little lost." He paused, as though considering whether or not to continue, before he spoke again. "I heard about what happened yesterday... how are you holding up?"
 
as written by Faithy

Jimmy wasn’t expecting Arien to be around and certainly didn’t expect the male to come over to him considering he generally hung around with Valére and Alvére. Still, he wasn’t about to turn away the company, though he was beginning to wonder if maybe he should have just gone to his room to hide out from the world. Shaking that thought of his head, he smiled faintly, shrugging a little.

“Hey, Arien. I imagine most everyone has heard about the attack yesterday, though not sure how many knew the beast was my father.” Jimmy slid a hand through his hair, pushing the locks out of his eyes before he continued, though in truth, he had no idea how he was truly holding up.

“I’m doing alright all things considering. Still waiting to be booted out on my butt, but I guess they’re waiting to see if I wolf out or not.” He shrugged a little, trying to make it seem like he wasn’t worried despite being terrified about the future.
 
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