Post by Alexander Sorel on Oct 18, 2024 22:08:32 GMT -6
[attr="class","ohlove"]
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i am the righteous hand of god
and i am the devil that you forgot
PROFILE LOADED: BARNABAS THARMR
Pain filled his vision as dark magic radiated through his steel gauntlet. Overwhelming, as if he could collapse. He couldn't remember feeling something hit him hard enough to cause that, or if that was simply Odin's magic. But the only sign of it was the spasming of his hand. He wasn't sure how long until he'd be able to use it. It hadn't all been for nothing at least. The moment he even brushed against the man, knowledge flooded his mind. Techniques, stances, forms, strikes. Behaviors. He waited for a moment, his body tensed and ready to move, but it never came. No attack. Peculiar. Yet Alex took the chance to retreat all the same, seemingly ghosting away from the man, trailed by white wisps to gain some distance between the two. Healing magicks flowed from the ground and into his hand, and... nothing. Bother, he would need it to heal naturally, and it would take time for that.
Unfortunately, things were getting a bit out of hand.
He tried to clench his hand, trying to will it to work.
Again, nothing. His lips thinned, but he showed no further disappointment.
Nevertheless, he forged ahead. The profile, once loaded, allowed him to tend to the connection left upon him by the Elder Primal. Multiple clashes between the two as it reappeared throughout the Black Shroud, culminating in a battle at Urth's Fount. The man was connected to Odin, there was no doubt about it. It was only through this that what followed was even possible. He simply held out his left hand. Not his favorite, but Barnabas's profile more than equaled the field. It had first appeared in his hand as merely the grip. The blade itself appeared in a flash but a moment later, longer than Alexander was tall. The shape was different; rather than a mess of curves, one single one. But its dark blade was entirely unmistakable.
It was no mimicry of Barnabas's, what Alexander held was his world's Zantetsuken, imprinted on him through his own experience having wielding it. All mimicking Barnabas did was bridge the gap between him and Odin's Mark, and allow him to finally pull on that mark. The weapon felt weightless, daunting yet familiar, Alex could be seen admiring it, as if having reunited with someone he had not seen in years. Only twice before had he grasped it, yet both times were enough to leave a memorable impression. Both times, whatever stood before him simply fell away. Yet to call it a blade felt almost simplistic. It was more holding the physical manifestation of the concept of severing. To use it to sever a life like it was so infamously known for, was simply the bluntest, crudest manner, like taking a hammer to a spider.
Magicks, monsters, oaths, or organs. Zantetsuken could sever them all.
But, in all of that, he did finally speak, pointing an Abstraction Incarnate at Barnabas. "I never asked your name." A question driven by a small curiosity.
Pain filled his vision as dark magic radiated through his steel gauntlet. Overwhelming, as if he could collapse. He couldn't remember feeling something hit him hard enough to cause that, or if that was simply Odin's magic. But the only sign of it was the spasming of his hand. He wasn't sure how long until he'd be able to use it. It hadn't all been for nothing at least. The moment he even brushed against the man, knowledge flooded his mind. Techniques, stances, forms, strikes. Behaviors. He waited for a moment, his body tensed and ready to move, but it never came. No attack. Peculiar. Yet Alex took the chance to retreat all the same, seemingly ghosting away from the man, trailed by white wisps to gain some distance between the two. Healing magicks flowed from the ground and into his hand, and... nothing. Bother, he would need it to heal naturally, and it would take time for that.
Unfortunately, things were getting a bit out of hand.
He tried to clench his hand, trying to will it to work.
Again, nothing. His lips thinned, but he showed no further disappointment.
Nevertheless, he forged ahead. The profile, once loaded, allowed him to tend to the connection left upon him by the Elder Primal. Multiple clashes between the two as it reappeared throughout the Black Shroud, culminating in a battle at Urth's Fount. The man was connected to Odin, there was no doubt about it. It was only through this that what followed was even possible. He simply held out his left hand. Not his favorite, but Barnabas's profile more than equaled the field. It had first appeared in his hand as merely the grip. The blade itself appeared in a flash but a moment later, longer than Alexander was tall. The shape was different; rather than a mess of curves, one single one. But its dark blade was entirely unmistakable.
It was no mimicry of Barnabas's, what Alexander held was his world's Zantetsuken, imprinted on him through his own experience having wielding it. All mimicking Barnabas did was bridge the gap between him and Odin's Mark, and allow him to finally pull on that mark. The weapon felt weightless, daunting yet familiar, Alex could be seen admiring it, as if having reunited with someone he had not seen in years. Only twice before had he grasped it, yet both times were enough to leave a memorable impression. Both times, whatever stood before him simply fell away. Yet to call it a blade felt almost simplistic. It was more holding the physical manifestation of the concept of severing. To use it to sever a life like it was so infamously known for, was simply the bluntest, crudest manner, like taking a hammer to a spider.
Magicks, monsters, oaths, or organs. Zantetsuken could sever them all.
But, in all of that, he did finally speak, pointing an Abstraction Incarnate at Barnabas. "I never asked your name." A question driven by a small curiosity.
