[Log:] A Game of Chess (1/2)

[eighteenwindows]

Who: Maria Tegawa, Gwen Meynolt, Reis Duelar, Christoph Schmidt, White Gale, Negi Springfield, Mercade Alexander, Meliadoul Tengille, Agrias Oaks, Simon Parker, Asmodeus (NPCd by Simon Parker)
What: The IPA mounts a desperate gambit to save Simon Parker from Hell, and faces down a Demon Prince on his own turf.
Where: Asmodeus' Palace, Hades, Hell
When: Tuesday, December 30th
Watch For: Everything. This scene was just plain awesome.



Like in many of the more modern-type worlds, this version of Cleveland has an IPA facility where assorted agents may convene. This one's a little on the smaller side; even the back room in which the diviner is standing is sort of cramped despite being cleared of furniture. She's packing rather light for what might be an extended journey to another plane, the idea being that moving fast might be more important than preparing for every possible contingency.

Gwen looks faintly worried, as she twists one of the caps on the end of the scrollcase in her hands absently. It's not without reason; the spell on the scroll is somewhat beyond her ability to cast casually, so there is an element of risk. It's also expensive: between this and the one she's packing for their eventual escape, there are no second chances.

There are several people here; one is a bit more laden, perhaps, than the others. Christoph enters the room, walks toward Gwen, and in addition to his usual Intelligent Device belted at his waist, he carries a pair of two small metal boxes, hanging from straps on his shoulders. For those present when they went to fight the Baku, they look quite familiar.

He salutes the woman. "Schmidt reporting," he says, his Belkan accent coloring the words. "Have monitoring equipment for the shift. May take a few moments to get set up on other side." The man's stance shifts slightly as he lowers his arm; the box on his left clanks quietly against the handle of his sword. "Am ready whenever."

He is looking forward to this mission, really. Hell doesn't exist in his world, even as the concept (other than 'another dimension of existence') and so that holds no fear for him. Plus, he rather likes Simon, and would prefer not to leave his friend to be summarily executed.

Reis Duelar is always nervous before any expedition. She is not an adventurer or a risk-taker by nature. She's simply not comfortable with danger in the casual way that a lot of IPA agents are.

The fact that this is Hell - actual, honest-to-God Hell - that she's going to is rather adding to her discomfort. Still Reis is doing her best not to show it. The room doesn't really have enough room to pace, so they're spared that at least; she stands around, twisting a loose bit of fabric from her dress every few moments without realizing she's doing it.

White Gale stands equipped with a number of extra utilities hanging off of his belt, mostly meant to facilitate spell-casting, and the wrapped bow on his shoulder. He's less uncomfortable with going into the core of Hell as some might be, although he's certainly not heard anything good about it from Jay.

He nods to the others as he walks towards Gwen, his voice reserved. "Hey, there. I told you I'd be here." His gaze meets Christoph and Reis, before he addresses Gwen directly. "Good luck, Factotum..."

The Holy Knight came as soon as the call went out for their departure. She comes wearing her Vanguard uniform, her blessed sword buckled to her hip. Her beret is on, and everything seems to be quite in order -- not a hair out of line.

Those golden eyes are ominous.

"Captain Oaks, reporting." Agrias Oaks manages to sidle into the room as unobtrusively as she can, settling near to Christoph, and nodding towards him. An accent colours her words as well -- almost Scottish, but not quite. "I am ready. Good luck, Factotum," she adds quietly, nodding towards her as well. They may well need it, considering where they're going.

Maria Tegawa may very well be the least nervous person in the room. This is largely in part due to her unnatural ability to focus, no matter the situation. She even seems slightly excited. She has good reason to be.

They're going to /hell/. That is a rite of passage for her kind.

There is a utility belt around her waist, which looks a bit out of place on her with her business professional clothing. "I'd like to take the moment to remind everyone..." she speaks up suddenly, her voice carrying well in the cramped quarters, "...to not eat or drink anything. Don't /take/ anything, period, because it may tie you to hell in an inconvenient fashion."

Negi Springfiled has been ambivalent about this whole thing for a while. On the one hand, Simon Parker is clearly a member in good standing of the IPA if they're going to /hell/ to get him back. On the other hand, demons and Negi have a somewhat problematic relationship, insofar as Negi doesn't like them at all and is solidly intent on shooting lightning beams at any of them he can. Still, in the end, Negi feels he has to come on this. It's his assignment to help the IPA in matters like this. And, maybe that spell will come in useful...

So Negi Springfield shows up in his usual little green suit and with his great big staff strapped across his back, but with even more equipment than usual - a floor length trenchcoat that seems to mostly be there to hold potions and catalysts, a bandolier of faintly luminous concoctions...Negi dipped into his stash. It's as good a time as any. He pipes up as he enters, calling, "I'm here!"

"WOOHOO!" Oh crap, could that be...

"AW YEAH, WE'RE TOTALLY GOING TO GO TO HELL!"Mercade yells, as he flips down from above a window, and hops throug, coming neatly to his feet from a tuck and roll only to fistpump. "I've always wanted to see what a metaphysical plane of anguish, torment, and eternal punishment fr one's horrible sins was like!" He chuckles. "Do you hink they'rll be a river of blood? I hope there's a river of blood." He idly asks Maria as he slides into the room like a particularly demented chipmunk in a noir film.

She smiles at Gale and Agrias, nodding as they greet her. "Thank you, I'll begin once everyone is ready." It'll also give her a moment to clear her mind, take a deep breath, focus properly.

It'd be easy to say that Gwen's more afraid of failing the spell than of whatever Hell might throw her way. So it goes for perfectionists.

"Indeed," she murmurs quietly at Maria's warning, clearing her throat before adding, "Furthermore, do not sign anything." Her gaze sweeps over the assembled, the Guvner only pausing a moment to stare as Mercade enters through /the window/, before she says, twisting the end off the scroll case for good now, "I will begin the spell now. Please, link hands; I will need to remain in contact with all of you, by proxy or otherwise, for this to work.

She extracts the parchment, simply dropping the case to the floor, and, breaking the wax seal, unfolds it. The scroll is covered with fine arcane script; Gwen takes a short breath before begining to intone the spell it describes. There's no gestures here to direct and control the magic, this is entirely dependent on the phrasing and her will. Keeping what Jay had told her about Hell in mind, she reaches for that plane. Those who can sense magic will feel the atmosphere in the room grow heavy.

The moment she speaks the final word, the scroll turns to ash in her hands, and the wizard reaches out to seize whichever hands are closest. The jerk across planes is sudden, and might make those prone to motion-sickness a little nauseous, but the spell apparently works.

The first thing to hit the group of would-be rescuers is the reek of smog. It's like thick polluted air mixed with brimstone, and omnipresent. The next thing they'll likely notice is the change in lighting--for a moment, there's total darkness, but then shapes start to appear. Lights go on in the distance--piercing halogen lamps backlit by a firey glow from somewhere out of sight. The hustle and bustle of crouds is just barely audible over the din of trains.

Then darkness once more. All you can hear are the sounds of your own breathing, and your hearts hammering in your chests.

The wail of tormented souls fills your minds, and the reek of brimstone assails your senses. There's a horrible sickening twisting sensation--a falling sensation, like you're plummeting; next comes the heat, all but unbearable, enough to burn your souls to ashes...

And then that, too, is gone. All that remains, once more, is the sound of your own heartbeat.

And a ticking grandfather clock. As reality filters in, you find yourselves in a heap on a cold marble floor, tiled black-and-white like a chessboard. A mahogany table sits next to the cluster, surrounded by plush velvet chairs; paintings depicting scenes from Dante's Inferno hang on the walls. The source of the ticking is apparently an emormous grandfather clock standing against one wall--made of wood and hell-wrought steel, each tick sounds deathly menacing.

Standing at the very end of the table is a man. At first glance, he looks to be wearing a cloak--but no, those are leathery, bat-like wings. Horns protrude from his temples, above dark, dark hair. Slowly, the man turns around, revealing a pale, severe-looking face, and sinister, burning eyes that could freeze the blood in lesser men's veins.

Asmodeus, Demon Prince of the Game, spreads his wings, before caping them behind his back. The air in the room is thick with demonic power--he isn't even bothering to hide his own potential. "Welcome," says the Prince. "I've been expecting you. Come to take what's /mine/, are you...?"

Asmodeus' Theme - X-Ray Dog - Shadowman

Mercade's rather unorthodox entry earns a bit of a blink from the Holy Knight, but she's been working this agency for a long time. It doesn't cause her to stare as much as she would have a year or two ago.

Agrias shakes her head as the air seems to grow heavy. She coughs at the stench of smog; grimacing at the sting in her eyes.

Silence. She looks sideways, a hand reaching for her sword, but she doesn't draw it.

And then she's falling. Thud. Granite. She picks her head up slowly, grimacing. Feels like being run over by a chocobo-wain.

She picks herself up, then, dusting off her coat. Those aquiline eyes glare straight at the Demon Prince of the Game. Intimidated? If she is, she hides it well. She doesn't really answer his quip with one of her own. Instead, she narrows her eyes, slightly. "Where is he? How do I know you have not simply had him slain and have done with it?"

One of the hands that Gwen takes is Christoph's, the metal hand. The other one is reserved for Meliadoul, naturally. He blinks slightly as he feels the weight of magic settle down on him; the air is alive with it. He knows this, and is careful to stay as still as possible when the transfer happens.

And as it happens, there are muffled beeps from within the boxes hanging from his shoulders, as the devices inside do their job. He twitches slightly, involuntarily, as the energy washes over him. Then he twitches again as he smells the air. "Ach, das riecht," he mutters. It stinks indeed. He peers around; his eyes start to get used to the dim levels of light--but then they extinguish. More muttering in Belkan, none of it particularly polite.

The other senses are taken away, one by one. He does not panic, not yet, but this is singularly discomforting...especially the sensation of falling begins. His hands tighten almost convulsively, but is mindful, at least, not to crush the fingers of Gwen and Meliadoul. For a moment, he begins to summon his own power, his very personal power over space, over where he is. But now there is ticking, and one by one, the five senses return--just in time for impact.

He is forced to let go, but is immediately back on his feet, looking around. His eyes inevitably track to the ruler of this place, the one called Asmodeus. Yes, he knows this: who else could contain such power. "Guten Abend," he says, almost automatically, as he warily reaches over to pull those near him back up to their feet, starting with Meliadoul. The boxes continue to beep mutedly, but for the moment appear to be forgotten, lying at his feet.

Taking hands with the others, the Solar shuts his eyes, letting the rush hit him as Gwen works her transportation magic.

The smog is choking, reminding him of Autochthon. The hot, stinging air is to be expected, from what Jay told him. The souls...he expected it, but it still hits him hard, his Essence flickering instinctively as he hears their torment in his mind. It's too familiar, too like the tormented, angry dead he'd try to silence back then. But he remains silent.

Until being deposited on the marble floor, likely underneath several others. As he drags himself out, blue hair messed up and glasses crooked, he likely doesn't appear to be an impressive sight to the demon Prince. Maybe if the Prince can sense Essence...

White Gale straightens his glasses before stepping forward to the prince's desk, looking up at the demon lord impassively. "I'm sure you expected our arrival, Asmodeus." Ha ha, know your name. "I'm afraid you simply won't be rid of us until we get what we've come for."

Reis Duelar does not like the transport. She is vaguely sensitive to some forms of magic, and while teleportation isn't it, being shipped off to Hell is. She feels, briefly, as if she will lose her lunch.

When lights come back on, she is half propped up on her side and looking vaguely greenish; she pulls herself out and simultaneously stands while smoothing her skirts out. If you go fighting with long skirts, you soon learn how to deal with them.

She says nothing, not trusting her stomach to stay under control if she does - and she has nothing to say to a demon, either. Reis very carefully does not meet his eyes; she looks a little down, a little to the side instead, her own yellowish eyes glinting as they narrow.

Reis steps a little closer to Agrias, sidewise. She probably doesn't even realize it.

Stomach lurching from the spell, Maria shakes off the disorienting effects and stands, neatly adjusting her collar and brushing off her shoulders. A bit more dusting of her blazer follows until Maria is satisfied with herself. Eyes focus on her surroundings as light leaks into existence.

Her gaze is undeniably drawn to Asmodeus, his presence drawing a smug smile from the lawyer. Gracefully, she steps forward, hands clutched behind her back. "As he is registered as an IPA agent, I must remind you that he isn't /entirely/ yours." She seems unphased by the demonic monstrosity before her, or if she is, she is carefully not showing it. Her pride would never allow her to cower before any demon in /this/ plane.

"Now I'm sure you realize there are several ways we can go about this." Maria explains in a patronizing tone. "Depending on how difficult you plan on making this, the situation could become very ugly very quickly, demon."

Meliadoul had arrived towards the end right when Gwen was beginning to explain the process for the ritual. The reason for her lateness is the unfamiliar broadsword at her side. Due to the loss of Save the Queen, Dresden had agreed to lend her a blade; though it came with a severe warning. Do not wield this blade in anger and do not swing against an innocent. It was an unfamiliar blade and took a few practice swings to get acclimated and even now, she can feel the power pulsing through it.

With a brief nod towards Agrias, she grasps Christoph's hand and gives it a squeeze before there is a wrenching sensation much like that of Christoph's teleportation spells and then the smell and the noise assaults her senses and it's like being back in the Necrohol again. She chokes and grips Christoph's hand even more tightly before finding herself in a pile of people. The agent's hand up is taken gracefully and stands with a clank and scrape, her golden armor gleaming dimly in the hellfire.

She stares forward as Asmodeus, studying him and comparing his visage to the Lucavi she has met before. She takes a deep breath, applying her training internally to control the sudden surge of hate and fear. She is not here out of some mindless sense of revenge. THOSE demons were slain years ago. She is here to retrieve a fellow member of the Vanguard, a member of her unit. This is her reason. But a prayer is on her lips and sent to the heavens with a soft exhalation. Then.. she waits.

Gwen had been warned about the atmosphere of Hell. She still coughs at first, at the stench; it's far worse than even Sigil on the worst of days. The heat is enough to make her eyes water, enough to make her squirm a moment in how utterly uncomfortable it all was. Was their Heaven really worse than this, like Simon had said?

Then the very 'earth' beneath her appears to have given way. Her grip on the hands she's holding tightens as she falls, the very suddeness of the drop itself enough to take her breath away. There is no screaming. Once she's extracted herself from the pile she finds herself in, the genasi stands, taking just a moment to dust off her vest and fix her glasses. This room is...

Ah. "You must be Asmodeus," she says, turning to face the demon prince. Very faintly, the diviner winces as she gazes upon him. It's hard to ignore his aura. She takes a breath, not turning away no matter how unnerved she might feel, and states, "...Mr. Parker... may belong to you, in as such. However, he is also a member of the IPA, and you have abducted him unlawfully."

Negi takes hands as directed. He opens his senses, eager to see the passage - but it's traumatic, an alarming thing. And then the world melts away.

Negi awakes on the floor, buried under a pile of attractive women and effeminate men. This is uncomfortably familliar a situation, but eventually Negi pulls himself out of it, scrambling to his feet because he doesn't want to be seen by DEMONS FROM HELL in a moment of weakness, except oh man the guy's already here and oh man he's scary and oh man oh man oh man

Negi ducks behind White Gale.

"I know you will not leave without him," Asmodeus says, in that calm, inflectionless voice. "You /care/ for him, don't you?" The Demon Prince calmly reaches into thin air and withdraws a small, pulsing orb of crystal encircled by rings of Hellforged iron. Nigele, Christoph and the other magic-users will notice that it feels a lot like Simon's presence. Nigele will also note that conceptually... it's much like his old Monstrance. A tether binding Simon to his Prince. His Heart.

"You speak to me of law? Dear child, have you forgotten who writes the Law, who builds the law, who /twists/ the law? I am the Game. You are on /my/ board you play by /my/ rules." Every time he raises his voice, the table jitters just a little--the curtains rustle. "And a Game you will play, if you want /my/ minion back." Asmodeus looks at Maria with calm, effortless defiance, daring her to make good on her promise. "We will play a Game for Simeon's soul."

Asmodeus squeezes the Heart between his fingers, threatening to crush it. Somewhere, in the distance, Simeon screams.

Agrias casts half a glance sideways, just far enough to notice Reis stepping closer to her. She shifts her weight, enough to indicate that she doesn't seem to mind. Come closer. She'll extend her protection -- that's what she does. Meliadoul earns a nod in return.

Especially here, in this uncertain place of fire, smoke, and torment.

She lowers her face, momentarily, shadows falling over the hollows of her face, cloaking her eyes in shadow. Thinking, perhaps. Jay had said that Asmodeus would be as like to challenge them to a game, if they wanted to take Simeon back. The question is, what kind of game?

"As they say," Agrias states, her voice low, but carrying well. "I am his Captain. And I will do whatever I must to retrieve him, /demon/." The word is spat much like a curse. She'll tear this place apart if she has to, but for the sake of the others, she's hoping it won't come to that. And... she likely wouldn't survive against the greater majority of Hell, though certainly not for a lack of courage... or perhaps righteous indignation.

She reaches up, adjusting her beret. Those golden eyes stare, almost unblinking, at the demon. Agrias Oaks is waiting, and she will wait for as long as she needs to wait.

She can be quite patient, when the occasion calls for it.

Something near an eye twitches. "I do not /care/ for him," she snaps out, crisply. "I care for the fact that to leave him would be irresponsible as a leader, and dishonourable. She steps forward as though she might draw her sword when Asmodeus squeezes the Heart between his fingers, but she does not draw Defender. Then let us play, and stop wasting my time, she wants to snarl; and for the love of God, stop tormenting my inferior. That's /my/ job.

Perhaps wisely, she holds her tongue, instead.

Christoph does not flinch, though he is hardly unmoved. His eye twitches briefly, and his hands go to his hips--meaning one hand goes quite close to the hilt of his sword, buckled there. His gaze locks on the orb: he knows, in an instant, what that is, though his world lacks such objects, as such. But that signature is unmistakeable; he has spent enough time around Simon to know.

He opens his mouth, then stops. He is an enlisted man; this smacks of politics, and politics are the realms of officers. Senior field officers. Flag officers, at that. So while he'd like to describe to Asmodeus what the demon surely must have up his rectum, including several varieties of fungus growing on the snapped-off branch of the tree species named 'puswood' when translated from Belkan, he decides to leave this to Maria to handle. And Agrias, he supposes. Hopefully she doesn't lapse into Gael.

Like he's going to stick to Midchi...English, right.

Inwardly, Maria cringes. Outwardly, she has a damn good poker face on. "Where your world ends, so does your game." Maria says patiently, "And so do your so-called 'laws'. Your charges, prosecution, and arrest of Parker outside your plane was unjust."

A bit of anger surges in the lawyer's voice as, with a fluid motion, she whips an object off of her belt: the thin metallic "body" of her iPhone. The screen flickers and statics, though the video feed being transmitted to the small device can be seen with a bit of effort. Oh look, it's /Askelon/ in his cell.

"We will play a game, but /we/ will be setting the terms."

"We have defeated demons greater and lesser than you Gamemaster," Meliadoul replies evenly. The orb is given a wary glance as she places a hand on the hilt of the sword. "And you too shall fall like they have." She does not smile nor move to place the shield slung over her back on her arm. She continues to wait, wincing at the distant scream.

'Do not die Parker. Not until we get there,' She thinks to herself as she watches Maria act. Raising an eyebrow, the woman laughs darkly to herself. The lawyer moves with all the political savvy of some of the more insidious Inquisitors of the Church doesn't she?

Reis Duelar does not recognize the object. It is, as far as she is concerned, a round rock in iron, some sort of trinket. It still sets her on edge to see him hold it - because she does not know what it is, she does not know what it can do, and he is treating it as something important.

She says something quietly under her breath; Reis does not bother to hope that Asmodeus cannot hear the prayer she says, some scrap she picked up years ago as a child. But it makes her more comfortable to say it - and here, she needs all of that she can get.

Reis does not quite wring the scrap of cloth again, but Maria, and then Meliadoul challenging Asmodeus - that makes her even more nervous. She thinks this may have been a very bad idea.

A Game. Yes, White Gale thinks, that's what Jay indicated. A Gamester. Simeon of the Game. Asmodeus has something up his sleeve, and far be it from a demon lord to play fair. And yet-

He stiffens and shudders when he hears the distant wail of Simeon, and observes the Heart. It's entirely too close to the Monstrance, the cage that his own former master would threaten to throw into the Void should he prove to be of no use. And yet, here he is...

He's quiet, this time, letting Maria speak and attempt to negotiate. This isn't his strong suit. But he doesn't look away from Asmodeus, not for a second.

Mercade had taken this opportunity to slide over to Maria and link arms with her to nake sure the recalictrant Scion doesn't get left out of the fun.

Aw, how cute.

A moment later, Fun Time is over, and Serious Business Time begins. He picks himself up off of the floor, and looks up, inhaling through suddenly dry and raw nostrils. Even a brief brush with the metaphysical terrors of Hell is enough to cause discomfort. Mercade quickly comes to a conclusion: Parker's Hell Does Not **** Around. His demeanor instantly changes from the merry one he adopted in the room in Cleveland. It's almost like putting on another mask. Mercade looks up at the decorations, the people present, and of course, the chessboard.

And Mercade is only handsome, not effeminate, dammit. He straightens himself out as Angry Scotsknight immediately starts pulling Demon Prince aggro. "Don't be silly, Maria. This isn't about justice, honor, or whatever. This is about the Rules." He feels the crackling presence of the Demon Prince press along his skin. It's a palpable pressure, like being too deep underwater or standing in a windstorm. Mercade steadies himself, and steps forward. "We're not here to claim any damn moral high ground. We're here for Parker. Just or unjust, he and his sets the rules and expects his rules to be obeyed. So he wants to play a game." He plops down on the edge of the massive board, and pops his neck.

"This is pretty classic. What are you suggesting for the Game, Demon Prince Asmodeus?" He eyes the sphere, and nods grimly. It's not too hard to understand that Asmodeus literally has his hand around Simon's heart at this moment. "And seriously, people, quit lecturing him. The only fact that we're not currently in the middle of a sea of blood and fire and trying to kill a horde of demons is because this one's civilized enough to talk despite the fact we just broke into his place and are collectively demanding his stuff."

Negi Springfield has had bad encounters with demons. He knows spells - he's not as helpless as he was, on that day.

But he also can't rely on what saved him that day. That man won't be appearing, not here. Never here. Negi's hands rise to his staff, and he draws it and clasps it in both hands - not offensively, but rather more like an object of comfort. He peeks out from behind White Gale, watching. Where do they get the courage to do a thing like that?

Or is he simply the coward, here? His fingers curl tighter around the staff.

Negi is spared a worried look; the child certainly has great magical ability, she's seen that, but there's still a pang of misgiving in regards to his accompanying them. Especially now.

Gwen's upper lip quivers a moment, her feeling of disgust almost shown on her face. Such a blatant disregard for their laws... even most of her fiendish colleagues in the Faction wouldn't speak so arrogantly. Still, she manages to reply evently, a nod given Maria's way, "Yes, the jurisdiction of this plane ends at its Gate. Mr. Parker was not in this world when he was abducted."

"The terms of this Game, as well as any and all consequences /must/ be laid out beforehand." She takes a step forward. "If you will hold to you word, then... yes. I will play your Game."

"Shut /up/, Mercade." Maria hisses angrily.

"You hide it well," says Asmodeus. "You should've heard what he had to say about you, /Captain/ Oaks, while he was being interrogated." He gives the Heart another squeeze, prompting yet another scream of pain and terror from somewhere out of sight. "He confessed to caring about you all very deeply. Combined with his recent failures... he was a perfect example." And then Maria whips out the cellphone, revealing yet another one of his minions, chained.

Asmodeus allows himself a roll of the eyes.

"You're a clever girl, aren't you, Gorgon? Then again, Askelon never was the same after his first trial. Very well, then, tell me your terms." As he speaks, Asmodeus' burning eyes rove over the little band of rescuers, before focusing on Mercade.

The smile he gives the Scion is chilling.

"Chess," says the Gamemaster. "Play Chess. Win, and you may have your friend back. Lose, and I will exact proper due for you interrupting me, and demanding I turn over my possession."

Asmodeus sets Simeon's Heart in a little niche on the table. It starts to spin, glowing brighter, until it seems to spark with Hellfire itself. Simultaneously, a section of the floor tiles lights up in alternating squares of black and white--each, incidentally, is just wide enough for a grown man to stand on while leaving space enough on either side for people to stand next to him.

"Set your terms, pieces, and take your places."

Flipping the iPhone away, Maria allows the thin and lightweight gadget to slide over her knuckles before grasping it in her hand once again. "As an added bonus, if you release Parker to us /alive/, then you can have your loyal minion back." she waves the iPhone before her, the image winking out, "For all the service he has done for you, it would be a shame for him to go. Good help is so hard to find these days, I'm sure you'd agree. Furthermore...Gorgon? Why /Gorgon/?"

A dark glare is cast in Mercade's direction as his compliance completely eliminates their opportunity to pick their own game and winning conditions.

Turning away from Asmodeus, she motions to the others to gather around a ways from the demon prince so they can discuss things. "Dibs on the queen."

"Oh, I'm certain he had plenty to say about me while he was being interrogated, /demon/." Agrias replies to the barb with a level tone, though the look in her eyes is murderous. "And none of it pleasant. But I care little for what he had to say about me; I care only that you are unlawfully detaining one of /our/ agents."

But she'll leave the legalese to someone who has a better grasp on it.

A wary glance is given at the chessboard floor, and Agrias gives a snort of disgust. Fine. She's more annoyed than afraid for her soul. She isn't thinking about that -- she can't. It's a leader's duty to remain strong, isn't it?

She reaches up, shoves her beret into place on her head, and marches for one of the Knight's squares, planting booted feet and folding her arms. "Very well, demon, we will play your game. We will defeat you, and then return with what is /ours/."

Reis Duelar's heart sinks.

He wants to play a game Reis has heard of, but never played - gaming was not exactly a prime pursuit of the proper lady, which Reis tried very hard to be for years. She knows nothing about the game except that you win by taking the other side's king, which actually seems to be rather like real warfare, now that she thinks about it.

Reis, thus, picks a spot at random. She stays in the back because the back is safer (she thinks) and she stays in the middle because she feels better with lots of people around her. There. Isn't she the clever one?

The floor chances and suddenly Meliadoul frowns a little. She recognizes this layout. A chess board, it is a game she used to play during her downtime. First it was learning from Folmarv and then with Izlude and lately against Agrias. But the pieces.. they are... With a frown, the knight removes the shield from her back and holds it high before looking to Maria.

"Our lives are in your hands then Lady Tegawa," She murmurs over the short band radio as she takes a spot and draws her sword.

Meliadoul Tengille Has Become The King's Knight.

"...Chess."

Nigele's silent for a moment, keeping Negi behind him as he recalls this game. Yes, it's a little like some of the games in Creation, albeit with different rules. Same objective, though. He frowns; an unfortunate thought is crossing his mind. But there's nothing to do about it, and so he doesn't voice it quite yet.

"Be careful," he adds quietly to Negi, "and watch your back. A Gamester might not play fair." Then he assumes a Bishop's space, turning up to face Maria again. She is, after all, the queen.

From what little Christoph has been able to review on demons before coming here, they are crafty, ancient bastards. So when Maria pulls her little ace out of her sleeve, he must feel at least a little bit impressed. Then again, the demons did sound like lawyers by his readings, so it would be perfect for Tegawa to be the one to pull this back on them.

Then, the terms are set. "Diese Spiel, das kenne ich," he says, vaguely. The translators will spell out, 'This game, I know it.' Hopefully he knows it well enough to participate usefully here, yes? He looks around, tapping his head for a moment, apparently thinking. "What are they...." His eyes flicker to Maria; he's not going to begrudge her the choice of Queen, no. That's the one that moves as far as it wants in any direction, right? "König, Dame, ach, Läufer, Ritter? Nein, Springer, und...." He turns to a corner of the board. "Turm." He names each rear-line piece in Belkan, from King downward, and appears to have selected for himself....

Turm. The Tower. Rook. "Well, then." He steps into place, next to Meliadoul.

Negi is jolted out of his reverie by White Gale. He takes a deep breath, steadying his nerves - he squares his shoulders. "That's fine," Negi murmurs back, shifting his grip on the staff to a more aggressive posture. "In a situation like this...I have a few tricks, as well. We'll be OK."

As long as nobody minds the side-effects. Yes.

Negi steps foward, and puts his feet down on...the other rook??

He takes a deep breath. "Father..." he mutters. "Watch me."

"Ma--District Attorney..." Gwen murmurs in no small surprise at the Scion's trump card. She hadn't known that they had detained one of Asmodeus' other servants. Despite a few small misgivings, she has to admit it may well be to their advantage. Never trust a baatezu.

Chess. Gwen is... vaguely familiar with the game, and much more familiar with the surprisingly similar variants she'd played as a child in Halruaa. "Ah..." she hmms, gazing at the places that have been taken, and the ones that remain open. "Perhaps, then..." And she steps into the place of the second Bishop, a small prayer under her breath. "Oghma, guide me."

His compliance saved them an hour of wrangling. Maybe he'll get a chance to explain later. Regardless, Mercade winces as Asmodeus calls her Gorgon. That's a slap in the face if he ever heard one. She can deal with that, though, on her own terms. He's sure Maria won't let the Prince bait her into making rash decisions.

Meanwhile, he scans the locations, considering the pieces and places everyone else has taken.

With a neat hop, he takes up the position of a pawn. Why the hell would he do that on purpose?

"Very well, then," Asmodeus says, "You will have Simeon alive, /if/ you win." He claps his hands once, and the Heart on the table flickers erratically; across the 'board' pieces appear out of nowhere. They're not demons, or monsters, or anything of the sort--they're the /rescuers/, colors of clothing and armor inverted so as to be an exact mirror of the 'pieces' on the IPA's side of the board.

"Game in session," Asmodeus pronounces. Each of the 'pieces' will feel a heavy weight clamping down on their souls and bodies, binding them to the board. They're effectively rooted in place, but not for long.

"White's first move," Asmodeus says, calmly. He looks at the group, expectantly.

"Well that's interesting." Maria remarks upon seeing their mirror images populating the other side of the board (and a few of her generic IPA agents filling in for the remaining pawns). She had expected a host of demons to be joining in for Asmodeus's side.

"Mercade." she states, as the game begins, ignoring that unsettling feeling tethering her soul. "Forward two spaces."

Reis Duelar doesn't like this feeling, but it could be worse. At least it goes away. (Although she hasn't tried to walk far; she will be slightly upset if she tries to jog across the board and can't make it.)

She isn't even sure what piece she is. Maria must be the King if she's giving orders, Reis thinks; she stands on tip-toe to see over the ranks of pawns, looking at her opposite number across the board. That's kind of creepy. She looks away.

Golden eyes snap towards the demon when he calls for a start, and then towards the Heart as it flickers on its table. If that is indeed the Balseraph's heart, what does it mean if it flickers so erratically like that? It can't be good.

Agrias sighs, reaches up, and pulls off her beret to rub at her forehead and straighten her hair. The beret is flipped back up onto her head, and she glances over towards her fellow Knight, murmuring something into her radio.

Eyes turn forward, then, and she pauses as though listening to her radio. She then steps forward; the Knight's long hook-shape towards the right. She unsheathes her sword, resting it point-down against the board, one hand on each side of the cross-guard.

Perhaps unsettlingly, so does her mirror-image, though her mirror-image doesn't move from its square.

"Interesting," she murmurs, trying to ignore her own sense of unease. She tilts her head back, just far enough to regard her allies behind her. "An intimidation tactic, perhaps...?"

Well, isn't that quite a handsome fellow on the opposite side of the board. Christoph stares stonily across the room; he moves one hand, to see if his mirror image does the same.

Either way, he unships his sword from his waist, leaving it sheathed but now in hand. Or, at least, at hand. He places the tip on the ground, rests both hands on the pommel, covering the green jewel set in it. There is a pawn in front of him, and Meliadoul to his left. He can't move through pieces...right? But, it appears that Maria still is in control. He looks over toward her, then Mercade, and simply watches the game unfold....

He does, however, reach over to take Meliadoul's hand, squeeze it briefly, before replacing it on his sword.

Taking a deep breath as she feels a weight suddenly clamp down upon her, Meliadoul studies the board. She looks first to her left and then to the right. Reaching around Gwen, the Knight smiles back at Christoph and salutes. She studies across the board and narrows her eyes. A black knight to match her own golden one hmm? Let them see how they deal with a knight with a holy sword then.

She does not quite draw her sword just yet. She will when it is time to fight. Instead she strides forward, her own movements taking her two blocks forward and one block to the left.

Nigele does nothing yet, though he observes the likely-soulless copy of him on the other side of the board. Copies of everyone. This only heightens his concern. Chess is a game of "capturing" the other side's game pieces. What, then, happens if a real person is captured by a demon in a game? Will Asmodeus decide to keep those he claims, even if they do win?

Well, he reasons to himself as he stays his place. He'll deal with that later...

Mercade Alexander obediently hops forward two spaces, scanning the Black Side. Ohhh, a mirror match. This will be INTERESTING.

A copy of herself. Gwen has encountered such a thing before, at the hand of a fetch. It didn't mean it was any less unsettling to see her opposite here, either. She swallows, briefly hoping that the copies are just that--or maybe just demons--and not anything more insidious than they already are.

Gwen experimentally attempts to take a step forward, but finds that she's unable to do so. Her body won't let her. Instead, a pawn diagonally to her right moves forward a space forward, leaving an opening. Something dawns upon the genasi then, and she moves into the space the pawn had occupied.

Negi straightens his posture. He's fine. Maria's a smart woman. She can direct them just fi--Oh man demonic mirrors. Peachy. Delightful. Wonderful.

And Negi's here with all of his special antique gear. WONDERFUL.

The Magister Magi in training quivers a little, but then shakes his head vigorously, brandishing his staff in one hand in a combative posture. Really more of a bishop, isn't he? Still, he is where he is.

He wonders if the other copy has some kind of magical equivalence. If it can think like him, Negi's one advantage is gone!

And then the anchors snap down, and Negi realizes exactly how serious this is. He takes another breath, readying himself. He's not...totally sure what to do yet. Patience is a virtue, in this game; he will wait until the time is right.

Both Knights--inverse colored clones of Meliadoul and Agrias--hop forwards simultaneously, vaulting over the heads of the Generic IPA Agent clones. They land in the standard L-shape, and stare at their counterparts with a look that's positively eerie.

Then Agrias' clone ripples, suddenly changing shape--her hair and face grow pale, and her armor twists and warps into a nightmarish suit of jet-black saronite. Rimehowl glows in her hands. Her eyes glow the brilliant blue of the Scourge.

Nigele, likewise, pales in complexion, and the bleeding half-bruise of the Daybreak Caste breaks open on his forehead. He draws his soulsteel bow, nocks several arrows, and fires across the board towards Agrias! Mercade's equivalent suddenly warps and distorts, growing fangs and mottled, scaly skin--much like Maria's duplicate. Reis? Reis' opposite quickly warps into a savage-looking dragon. Christoph? He's a nightmarish mess of twisted flesh and rusting machinery. Meliadoul? The leonine form of Hashmal, the Regulator. Negi? A pitiful-looking child, cowering behind the pieces in front of him. Gwen? Gwen becomes a smug little tiefling, complete with horns and skimpy garb. She chants something that Gwen might recognize, and moments later, a fireball roars towards Meliadoul and the nearby pawns.

The enemy pawns take one step forwards.

Mirror Chess Theme - Globus - Preliator

Reis Duelar still has no idea what she's doing, but that's okay, because there are people who do.

Nervously, Reis takes two steps to the side; she almost accidentally does the proper move before being told, although she didn't know there was a special name for it. "Ah - ah, yes," she says - just before the other side twists and changes.

That doesn't do what Asmodeus probably wants it to. It doesn't make her afraid, or throw her off guard. It makes her mad. That's the past - for her, for Agrias, for White Gale, and she assumes for the others even if she does not know what they are or why they look that way. It should stay buried. She takes one sharp breath in, then releases it, energy of a wholly different sort than the Hellish environment building inside her.

But she doesn't let it out. She just holds it, letting it build - she's too far away to do much else, although that fireball is kind of worrying.

"Ach, I got ugly," Christoph murmurs, staring at the cyborg now more machine than man across the board from him. His frown deepens as he sees other-Agrias change into Death Knight Agrias: quite a low blow. And the others change as well. Nicely psychological. He shifts his grip on his weapon, sets himself to wait further until the pieces that are surrounding him move enough so that he himself can then--

Attacks get launched. The mage stares at the arrows and fireballs flung over the board. "That is not--" He reaches out with his sword, a blue shimmering field appearing over it, to try to slap the fireball away from Meliadoul. Somehow, he knows he cannot move from his space, and his feet remain firmly anchored, so that he cannot interpose himself personally.

And that makes him understand the state of things: the rules say, you must move in turn. But, so long as you stay where you are.... "Und hier I am, with a limited range," the mage mutters to himself. Maybe he can teleport still? Since that's not 'moving' in the normal sense.

He thinks, then shrugs, pulls out his energy pistol, and starts firing lazily over the head of the pawn in front of himself.

Maria lifts an eyebrow.

The version of chess she practiced did not involve ranged attacks. "Really pushing that 'Gorgon' thing, are we." Maria sighs, shaking her head. People have, on occasion, called her a cold-hearted snake before so this actually doesn't bother Maria as much as Mercade may think.

"Negi, when you get the opportunity, start castling Reis. Mercade, start capping things."

Something twists inside of White Gale's stomach. He should have expected it, but gazing into the face of his past, the 'him' that died when he turned against the Neverborn and towards the Sun, is still unsettling and unpleasant. The pale skin, the 'dead' eyes. Is this how it looked to his old friends when he first reappeared as an Abyssal?

But. "So, it seems it doesn't need to be your 'move' to attack from where you stand. If that's the case..." He narrows his eyes, drawing his own bow and firing a crystalline arrow at his other self when it-he-fires on the Solar's captain. "So be it..."

"!" Meliadoul lets out a gasp as a fireball comes straight towards her. "That is not part of the game!" She shouts as the shield rises defensively. The flames slam into the metal and the golden shield glows red hot as she pushes back. She hisses from the pain due to the heat of the metal against even the protective leather she wears beneath solid plate of her armor. Shaking her head, the knight scans the field and then pauses. Her face pales and there is a sharp intake. "Hashmal, Bringer of Order." Icy fingers of fear grip her heart and leave her standing in place. She is quivering and opens her mouth to speak but there is no sound.

"YOU!" Meliadoul roars, "How -dare- you bring back his spirit?!" Tears begin to collect in her eyes as memories, sharp and painful surface. "Do not worry father. I will free you from this torment!" There is the sound of a sword being ripped from its scabbard and once free from it's protective wood and leather case, the holy blade seems to practically -glow- in this hellhole.

It is no ordinary sword. The power of God can be felt radiating from every blessed inch of steel. Why did Dresden think it would be a good idea to bring a nail from the Crucifixion down HERE is.. quite possibly beyond anyone and Meliadoul would be shocked if she knew what really made Amoracchius special. "Demolish weapons with fury! Hellcry Punch!" She shouts, swinging the blade downward and a spurt of energy exploding beneath Hashmal to destroy any weapon he may be carrying as well as cutting into it's own spectral form."

"/Och.../" Something twitches near the Holy Knight's eye, and she casts a level stare towards her pale, death-touched counterpart. Her gloves tighten around the hilt of her sword, the lines of her shoulders tensing. She should have expected something like this. Consider the master of the game, on the side of the black.

Agrias sets her jaw and seems about to--

No time for that. Agrias yelps and reaches for the shield at her back, yanking it down just in time to block the black-fletched arrows, though one slams into her forearm, to a strangled grunt of pain. That /hurts/. She staggers back a step at the force of the blow, but some force seems to keep her from overstepping the bounds of her square.

Tch, tch. It's not your move yet.

She sets her jaw, then, straightening with some tattered scrap of dignity. She'll face this one down, too. It is, indeed, the past. Surely the Lich King has no reign here.

Right?

She keeps her shield up, just in case. She looks towards Maria, awaiting instruction, though her face is pale. That shaft hurts. Gods curse it, she's going to dock this from a month of Parker's pay. "Your instruction, m'lady," she grates. She'll pull that bloody thing out when she can have it seen to proper-like.

In the meantime, it does serve nicely to stoke up a bit of mild, righteous indignation. That, in turn, is sufficient to block out the fear of seeing the death knight across the board. To let herself give into fear... that's what Asmodeous wants, and she will not be cowed.

But...

"MELIADOUL." Her voice is a commanding roar. "Control yourself! Attack as you will, but do not let him get the better of you! /That/--" And she raises Defender to point, "--is not the Bringer of Order! Do not let this demon rob you of your judgment!"

"Ah..." The sound's perhaps more of a squeak than Gwen would have liked it to be, as the entire black side of the board morphs. And her clone? A tiefling. Fiendish planetouched. Doubtless, a cruel joke on Asmodeus' part--a thought that's all but confirmed as she glances at the other copies across the board.

There's not much time to linger on such things, though, as attacks are lauched across the board. As close to Meliadoul and the pawns near her as she is, flames threaten the wizard-turned-Bishop as well. "--But that's...!" the wizard gasps, as she realizes that they're in house rules territory. Ah, she should have known it wouldn't be by the book. "...Very well," Gwen murmurs then, drawing a small wax-wrapped package as she gestures beyond the boundaries of this plane.

The thing in the package is snapped in two, as a small portal opens. Pointing at the tiefling wizard-clone across the board, the diviner orders the swarm of gold and white bees that emerge from the gate, "Attack her!" It's not just because she's upset at what her 'opposite' is. It's also a good idea to take care of the spellcaster.

[Y-Vanguard Detachment] Captain Agrias Oaks says, "MELIADOUL." Cue the Oaks Commanding Roar. "Control yourself! Attack as you will, but do not let him get the better of you! /That/ is not the Bringer of Order! Do not let this demon rob you of your judgment!"

[Y-Vanguard Detachment] Reis Duelar says, quietly, "It's not. And that's not me; it looks like - what I was - but it isn't. It isn't even a dragon."

[Y-Vanguard Detachment] Reis Duelar says, "They're just... tricks."

[Y-Vanguard Detachment] Meliadoul Tengille says, ".. He is -not- my Father! I know.. but.."

[Y-Vanguard Detachment] Meliadoul Tengille says, "This is -my- demon to exorcise!"

[Y-Vanguard Detachment] Captain Agrias Oaks says, "He is not Hashmal, either!" Grunt of pain. "Dammit."

[Y-Vanguard Detachment] Meliadoul Tengille says, "And you should be watching yourself!"

[Y-Vanguard Detachment] White Gale says, "They're just phantoms."

[Y-Vanguard Detachment] Captain Agrias Oaks mutters. "Their arrows are not."

[Y-Vanguard Detachment] Meliadoul Tengille taking deep even breaths.

[Y-Vanguard Detachment] White Gale says, "They might be stooge demons taking that form, but that's all they are!"

[Y-Vanguard Detachment] White Gale says, "Remember what Dresden said about wielding that sword in anger, Lady Tengille."

[Y-Vanguard Detachment] Captain Agrias Oaks says, "I should have expected it. Jay warned me that our opponent would be less than, shall we say, honourable."

[Y-Vanguard Detachment] White Gale says, "Yeah. We just play his game..."

[Y-Vanguard Detachment] Reis Duelar sounds more firm. "If that's all he can do, I'm not very worried."

[Y-Vanguard Detachment] Captain Agrias Oaks, more confidently, "Aye. Lady Duelar has the right of it."

[Y-Vanguard Detachment] Meliadoul Tengille says, "I know. I am.. trying.."

[Y-Vanguard Detachment] Captain Agrias Oaks chuckles, albeit tensely. "Keep a lid on your temper, Mel, and I'll buy the wine this week?"

Mercade laughs as he looks over his opposites, the lines of the faceless dark men and the one in the dark robe, unknowable and perverse, a being of eldritch power and steeped in blaspheous heresies. Lies hang off of him like the stench of rotting corpses, and ineffable damnation follows in his steps.

Mercade smiles. "He dies first." As he bobs and weaves around the attacks sweeping his way with an atonishing agility, he whips out his Glocks and returns fire, aiming a barrage of bullets towards the one opposite his position. "Pawn takes asshole." Mercade chuckles.

[Y-Vanguard Detachment] Meliadoul Tengille says, "... Heh. Very well then."

Negi's look of worry turns to one of total surprise as the whole enemy /side/ moves. THAT IS SO NOT LEGAL, and nor is them shooting arrows and fireballs at them. Negi is not in a position to comment on the legality of warping the duplicates into frightful, demeaning parodies, but he has to assume it's also illegal because nothing else that has happened in the last ten seconds has been even remotely allowable.

But something strikes him. The other him - the copy-Negi - is cowardly-looking, a frightened child. Asmodeus doesn't know about him, Negi surmises - doesn't know Negi's history, doesn't know the power the boy wields. He can clearly change these duplicates' appearance on a whim, and perhaps can update their powers appropriately, too, now that it's obvious they /have/ powers.

He has two choices: He can keep up the coward act and let the other-Negi remain a pathetic little dweeb until someone kills it, or, he can...

For a moment he's worried, because his best spells only fire in a straight line. And then one of Frozen Heart's arrows stab the pawn in front of him in the heart, causing it to keel over. Negi squawks in surprise, and then shivers, eyes locking ahead. "Now," he mutters. "Now's my chance...!"

"Ras tel, ma scir, magister!" Negi murmurs. A magic circle snaps into being around his feet, and Negi's outstretched hand is surrounded in a nimbus of soft blue-white light. "Unus fulgor concidens noctem, in mea manu ens inimicum edat!" One flash of lightning cutting the night, reside in my hand and consume my enemy! he cries, and lightning energy begins curling around his fingers, the air around him snapping with electricity. Strike first. Strike hard. It's a bit of a draining spell, but--

Negi's casting hand dips into his bandolier, drawing out a pair of potions, sparking with energy. Catalysts. This should take the brunt off of him! "Fulguratio Albicans!" White Lightning! And with that shout, the room dims, as Negi hurls the catalyst potions forward and discharges a blast of energy into them; the viles explode, and from within, a streak of eye-searing white lightning rips across the distance, surrounded by hurricane-force winds that, Negi is /hoping/, will tear right through the pawn and Negi's doppelganger, before Asmodeus gets any plans about making Alter-Negi something other than a cowering simp.

The pawn opposite Christoph fires back with its own little pistol, moving forwards a space as it does so. It looks badly wounded from Christoph's attack, but it's still ticking, oblivious to the burns on its right arm and chest.

'Frozen Heart', likewise, takes an arrow in the shoulder, and bullets in the chest. He doesn't even wince as thick, brackish blood drips from the wounds, though he drops to a knee--instead, he starts channeling Essence--casting a spell--and then, when the space in front of him is clear, he fires. A swarm of jet-black obsidian butterflies races towards Agrias and the pawns surrounding her.

The Holy Knight is now being double-teamed, as the other Death Knight makes an L-shaped leap, landing on the diagonal from her. She spins around, facing Agrias, and stretches out a hand. Her fingers glow an icy blue as arctic energies flow through her, culminating in a massive blast of chill wind that threatens to suck the warmth from Agrias' body.

"Hashmal", likewise, approaches Meliadoul, only to be laid into by the massive blast of energy that is the Hellcry Punch. The 'demon' sinks to his knees, letting out a low growl of pain, before rising up once again, turning to Meliadoul, and laying into the poor knight with his claws. What armor he wore is hanging from his frame in tatters, but he's now /enraged/.

Negi's spell nukes his counterpart, and the pawn standing next to it. Both are electrocuted, and collapse to the ground, sobbing--and they don't get up. Gorgon-Maria kicks Negi-pawn's corpse aside, and steps into the space he formerly occupied. A twisted parody of the Spear of Truth appears in her hands, as she surveys the scene. She now has a clear shot at the enemy front row.

As for the tiefling, she's suddenly swarmed by bees. She lets out an eerie, Gwen-like shriek as she flails, cursing. Fortunately for all involved except her, the painful distraction keeps her from casting another one of those fireballs.

[Y-Vanguard Detachment] Meliadoul Tengille muttering on repeat, "Control yourself. Control yourself..."

Christoph is forced to stop shooting and look over at Meliadoul, staring at the unbridled venom--and then the attack that she has just unleashed against her counterpart. Hashmal? Spirit? Father.... What is going on here? He looks across the board again, peering at the demonic shape that now represents the Black knight.

But he'll have to ask her later. Right now, the battle continues. Mercade unloads his gun, Gwen casts a spell, and boy does Negi cast a spell. That actually takes the Belkan by surprise; he blinks at the little boy, almost disconcerted by how much power the child has just unleashed. "Nicht schlecht," he mutters, clearly impressed, and maybe just a little bit envious. Not bad indeed. In the meantime....

Christoph raises his gun again--then is forced to switch back to his sword, trying to deflect the counter shots from the pawn. The shield catches some, but so does the Barrier Jacket. It is difficult to dodge when rooted to the spot. He grunts in pain as one bullet, then two embed themselves in his shoulder. They don't do much damage, but it does sting.

This is beginning to annoy him. Looking around, he sees that pieces aren't moving as turns are apportioned. Maybe it's not that he must wait his turn, but...well, he must stay in the squares? He prods the pawn in front of him to move forward, and if that succeeds, he then tries to move forward as well. All the while continuing to fire across the board and duck more shots coming back.

Fine. Agrias shifts her grip on her shield, huddling behind the large, unmarked kite shield with a grimace. Every motion chafes the arrow shaft, but her primary concern is the projectiles being flung over the chessboard.

"The last I checked," she grumbles, shoving her beret back onto the crown of her head, "that was /not/ a valid manoeuvre in king's-men."

A moment is taken then to glance back towards her allies. All still alive? Good, good. She glances back over just in time to see the rush of obsidian bufferflies, snarling and raising her shield to block; several of them leave shallow, bloody traces along a cheek. The shield, unfortunately, only covers so much.

One hand raises to dab at the wound; her eyes flick down to the blood, then back up to her adversaries.

...Wait. Adversaries, plural?

Eyes widen at the blast of chill wind, and Agrias simply throws herself to the ground, hissing in pain at the slam of cold marble. The alternative probably would have been worse. Frozen her in place, maybe? Or perhaps dull her reflexes, enough for several of those arrows to find their mark?

She climbs to her feet, muttering curses in Gaelic and reaching up to the shaft lodged in her arm, snapping it roughly. A sharp splinter still juts from her sleeve, but at least it won't be getting in her way.

She ducks behind her shield, taking another L-shaped jaunt away from her mirror image. It still keeps them in view, and she takes up Defender, aiming for one of the pawns, and lets her eyes fall half-closed, murmuring a prayer that's lost in the din. Eyes open a moment later, as energy crackles virulently down the length of Defender, blue-white. She swings her sword as though she were striking at the opponent. Holy energies crackle as they're loosed, streaking right for the death knight.

Some spiteful part of her hopes it wipes that Scourge smirk right off the bitch's face. That is /not her/.