"Hm, well this isn't quite what I had in mind. I appear to have gotten tangled up in a mess I want nothing to do with..." Vargaraad's second mouth spoke on his behalf while his own mouth clicked his tongue as if to convey how unfortunate he was for stumbling into this predicament. He was originally here to search for Ares and get his lantern back, nothing more. Running into the Frozen Throne patriarch, and then subsequently a venator of all things, was a stroke of terrible timing and luck. He was a cultivator from Vraizon, though, and well above the transition realm so he wasn't much phased by them, it really was just awkward. Really, the big issue here was the venator that stumbled out of a crack in space and looked to be in the mood to go on a murder spree. Vargaraad wasn't some bleeding heart type, plus he was in the middle of something else currently, but he couldn't really justify ignoring a venator. These guys were trouble and letting one cultivate as it pleased would have long lasting ramifications on the safety of multiple domains. They were effectively invincible for the most part so taking care of one while it was still young was considered good manners if a cultivator was actually capable of it. Plus ignoring one would just inevitably bite Vargaraad in the ass later. Sure the Legions were a bigger threat to him currently but, by the time he dealt with them, this thing would be an even bigger problem. One he was partially responsible for as he overlooked it earlier.
Then there were the Throne lot who were like aggressive chihuahuas. They felt wronged by Ares and, thus, every one of their actions ow revolved around getting payback no matter how suicidal. They were recently made privy to the destruction of an overwhelming majority of their clan, upwards of ninety percent had perished on the mutated mountain, but quite frankly that was irrelevant to Vargaraad who couldn't care less. The Throne, compared to Ares and the venator, were low stakes and had just bumbled their way into this grander scale mess they had no business involving themselves in. Nonetheless, they were still here and holding things up unnecessarily. All Vargaraad had done was ask locals if they'd seen Ares anywhere and soon enough afterwards he had these lunatics locked on his trail, completely misunderstanding his connection to the person he was chasing after. No amount of explanation was going to get through to people this zealous so their anger was going to remain misplaced towards Vargaraad. It was an unintended side effect of his search he couldn't prevent because this clan was stubborn. These people were not reasonable. Thankfully the appearance of the venator, something they'd never seen before and didn't understand, had shut them and their barking up for at least a little while.
"Kill?" Some baby venators had a greater grasp of speech, perhaps because the soul they were derived from was stronger and could retain more memories from their past life, but a lot of them were also stuck repeating single words or phrases over and over again. This purple human-shaped venator seemed to be particularly fond of the word 'kill', this was actually the third time it had said it, but that was understandable given the venators' general preference for, surprise surprise, killing people. It wasn't really understood where this desire came from but it probably stemmed from either jealousy of intact souls or a desire to subsume them and make their own soul whole. Whether they could even accomplish this was unknown, nobody had ever seen it happen, but maybe the stronger venators could do it under the right circumstance. Regardless, Venators did not get along well with any other kind of living creature and so this one, that had only just escaped from the Void thanks to Dido's childish encouragement and enabling, saw the group of Throne cultivators as an eyesore. An eyesore it wanted to 'kill' and, through the power of resilience unmatched, could probably manage it. It was weaker than them, it would be a slog, and the venator would be beaten black and blue over and over again due to lacking control over its strength, but it would survive for as long as needed in order to club each of these cultivators to death eventually. Young venators relied heavily on innate perseverance and getting the drop on unsuspecting victims who weren't as aware of the threat posed by them in extended fights where they had an undisputable advantage. Infinite stamina and an unbreakable body meant young venators didn't have to be skilful, powerful, or have a high cultivation base; those were all things they could work on later after they begun to understand the world and how it worked compared to the empty void.
This about summed up the group of three staring each other down but Ares, at this point in time, was about to drop in on their gathering and complicate things. He was still in the process of grabbing the Moongate Mountain right now, so his appearance would be delayed a bit and come later, but he was definitely on his way and bringing one hell of a souvenir along with him. Vargaraad could also sense the person holding his lantern go soaring across the sky but he was too preoccupied with the venator to worry about whatever shenanigans Ares was to up.
The venator took a step forward towards the Throne cultivators and Vargaraad happened to take a step towards the venator. It seemed everyone had their targets in mind and it resulted in a triangle of intent of sorts because the Throne lot were after Vargaraad. They were idiots who couldn't understand the degree of their own idiocy; being woefully ignorant of a venator didn't excuse ignoring the random pop up monster that appeared out of nowhere to attack another human. There was a limit to being rude and this was incredibly impolite behaviour. Vargaraad was strong but he had no desire to fight everyone at once so he decided to take on those who were attacking him first and deal with whoever was left afterwards. His second mouth tutted, his finger clicked, and his normal mouth chanted "Lovely Weather Tonight."
Though that may have sounded like a unique art it actually wasn't! Though it was only a more recent discovery, first learnt of during era G, there was an aspect under the weapons pillar suitable for umbrella warfare. This was such an oddball aspect it was assumed to be unique the first time anyone heard of it. Strangely enough, though, it wasn't and became its own standalone thing. By that point, names for aspects were already becoming a hot topic and they weren't so standardised across the board anymore. Unlike the old fashioned 'sword' aspect or 'bare fist' aspect, the umbrella was part of the new generation of discovered aspects and was thus named, in accordance with the wishes of those who could actually even use it, the 'gentleman's discussion' aspect. A rather polite way of saying 'you just got your ass beat in a fair and honest duel by an umbrella'.
To be fair, though, it may have sounded like a silly weapon choice but the umbrella was rather potent as a balanced tool that functioned somewhat like a cross between a shield, an épée, and a sword breaker. The handle was phenomenal for parrying, the pointy tip at the end of the umbrella, AKA the ferrule, could be used for thrusting attacks and was suitable for fencing, and lastly the panel and canopy were great for blocking attacks while remaining disjointed from the person holding it. Shields were great and all but if a shield user blocked a fire attack their hands were prone to getting hot or, worse, burnt just by proxy. This issue was non-existent for fully open umbrellas as the distance between the handle and 'shield' was sufficient to not transfer any lingering heat to the wielder. The same was true of blocking certain poisonous gasses, acidic oozes, shrapnel, piercing attacks, etc... The umbrella unironically became known, unofficially, as one of the most versatile weapons out there. It didn't take long for an umbrella exemplar to pop up either so it was quite the serious development! It wasn't just fun and games or people messing around with a silly toy. Ever since, the gentleman's discussion aspect had seen many improvements, refinements, and, more importantly, more attention from art creators who were specialised in understanding the weaknesses of aspects and working on arts that filled in those gaps. That or arts that played to already existing strengths. Again, like the dark elf from the Brotherhood tryouts, such people, sometimes referred to as 'artists', were invaluable and they'd done a lot of good for this relatively niche aspect. The aspect itself was rare, and didn't crop up much because the number of umbrella wielders was pretty minimal, but it was considered a strong aspect regardless which drew the attention of said artists because there was a lot of wriggle room to work with. The aspect wasn't mocked despite its rarity and un-commonality because those who'd gone face to face with it knew of its potential. And thus we return to 'Lovely Weather Tonight'. This art was tricky but preferred by those with an affiliation for the gentleman's discussion aspect because it gave them an edge in combat.
The sky darkened and a strange funnel of shadows surrounded everyone present as though a black dome descended, trapping everyone within it. From there, six street lights sequentially lit up with jittery clicks, providing a source of illumination though somewhat sporadic in terms of position s there was no consistency to their locations. A cobble path appeared underfoot as rain began to fall overhead. This was the base of the art and, from here, a game unlike any other began, one that the caster was typically better suited to winning. The way this art worked was that the lamp posts, while they were active, as they would turn off on their own at predetermined intervals, would prevent rain from falling underneath them. They were safe spots, essentially, a place to stop and take a breather from the downpour. Anywhere else? Rain would cascade down on you with no mercy in sight. This was a problem because the rain actually hurt, the drops were like mini sharp stones and the damage would wrack up over time. Plus the rain drained energy of those hit, sapping their strength, will to fight, mana, and even their senses, so it was rather unpleasant ot be caught standing around outside... Without an umbrella anyway.
Yes, the umbrella wielder could also defend themself from the rain by using their own portable shelter which functioned just like the lights did. While everyone else had to scramble to the ever-shifting safe zones, the umbrella wielder could walk freely through the dark street and blend in with the shadows, away from the light, and launch sudden thrusts from nearby alleys obscured by the dead of night. The downside to this art, though, was that the caster was not immune to the rain and was just as susceptible to its effects as anyone else caught in the art. If their umbrella was knocked out of their hand then they would pay for their unrefined clumsiness and be forced to play the same demeaning game as everyone else. In other words, your best bet when interacting with this art was as follows. A, don't forget to bring an umbrella. B, Don't drop your umbrella if you happen to actually have one. C, kindly ask anyone nearby with an umbrella to share, or D; stay somewhere safe and wait the rain out. Most people didn't carry umbrellas with them everywhere they went, so that ruled out A. B was mostly advice for those with umbrellas not to let it get stolen or smacked away from them. C was a smooth way of suggesting you beat the umbrella out of the hands of those with them so that you could be freed from having to rely on safe zones all the time. And last but not least, D was the backup plan when all else failed but it wasn't preferable. Either way, you really didn't want to be stuck in the rain, that was bad mojo. Getting wet, ironically, left you high and dry.
The Throne disciples were all huddled around under three lamps after they found out the hard way that just barrelling through the rain wasn't a good idea. one of their weaker members was straight up dead after failing to find cover. He technically did, and ran towards it, but the light flickered and failed as he approached it in desperation before shutting off and leaving him with nowhere left to run. Granted this person was incredibly weak, and dying that fast was anomalous, but it went to show that this domain was not to be messed with. Also it was summoned by someone whose cultivation had transcended the transition realm so naturally it hit extremely hard. The patriarch of the Throne, an elderly man wearing a purple robe, and corralled all his clan members at great cost to his own safety. His health had deteriorated greatly from dragging stragglers under the lamps and, worse still, the lamps were now flickering meaning everyone had to move to a new set of them if they wanted to remain safe. Realistically, large groups would struggle against this art because they had to move together as a well oiled unit and that jsut wasn't possible with people of this calibre. The fight in this realm was supposed to be quick, dynamic, and elegant. A dance between light and shadow as the attacker lunged from within the rain and forced the victim to retreat tactically under the shifting lights. These Throne members didn't have it in them to tango under this Lovely Weather, they could barely even keep up with the lamps let alone Vargaraad who was merely watching on amusedly as they stumbled. Their misery was still only just beginning, however, because Vargaraad may have decided to sit this one out but there was somebody else aiming for them from the start.
"Kill." The venator had been roped into this art too. Vargaraad wanted to make the Thrones pay for their stupidity and make them realise the hard way that there was a bigger threat than Vargaraad standing right before their faces that they'd been ignoring. The venator, dumb as bricks but resilient as them too, was calmly wandering about through the rain as though it didn't affect him in the slightest. It hurt him but venators were great at shrugging of pain. It tired him but venators had infinite stamina, essentially. It melted down his flesh but venators were capable of regenerating from dust let alone a few minor wounds such as this. Put simply, he was like a purple zombie mindlessly walking as his to-be victims. The Throne patriarch saw this but was dismissive because the venator just didn't seem like it would cause any sort of major issue. In fact, one of the elders, who had just relocated to a stable street light was nearby and figured he might as well deal with one of their attackers while had the chance. The elder summoned a large axe, leant out of the safety of the light for a split second, and buried his weapon in the neck of the ambling venator. There was no blood but the head was chopped off without much resistance so the elder assumed the deed was done and they could go back to worrying about Vargaraad. This conceit was his downfall, though, as he was struck from behind by the resurrected venator whose head was reattached in a matter of seconds. The elder's own head was crushed into his neck by the overhead strike and he collapsed in a pool of his own squashed brain goop. It was a hideous sight but the street light above him switched off and nobody could see it anymore. All that was left was the stumbling purple venator groaning the same word, 'kill', over and over as it treaded through the cobblestone street under the cover of darkness.
Things were looking grim for the Throne patriarch, he couldn't deal with everything happening around him at once. His disciples needed baby sitting from the rain, his elders were scattered as they'd taken individual action to not be a burden so they were now prone to getting assaulted by the seemingly invincible monster, and the patriarch needed to keep his secret talisman hidden away to blast Vargaraad if he came close. The talisman in his possession was enough to kill someone even above the transition realm, he'd exploited his connections to get ahold of it and kill Ares, but this was not the time to be picky about his target and so he was readying the weapon for whenever he spotted an opportunity to end this game of cat and mouse and rain on Vargaraad's parade. It was a lot of work and he was having a hard time keeping up with the demands. At this rate he'd have to sacrifice something and that wasn't an easy choice. If he abandoned the elders he could save his disciples and sniff out Vargaraad to blow him to smithereens. If he abandoned his disciples he could round up the elders and launch an assault against the monster and Vargaraad without a fuss. Lastly, he could sacrifice himself by charging the venator, killing it, and using the last bit of life within him to attack Vargaraad. At this rate, there was no escaping loss and the only question remaining was 'who bites the dust?'
The patriarch didn't want to kill himself. Self preservation was deeply ingrained into most people so, though it was selfish, he couldn't really be blamed. Plus he was valuable, he was the patriarch after all! His life held deeper meaning for the continued existence of the clan. The same was also true of his disciples but... He already lost most of them in the mountain incident anyway... Some of them had potential but the elders were far and away a more important force to retaining the clan's integrity on the world stage. Numbers could be replenished, power was harder to find and took longer to incubate and grow. Unfortunately the disciples were about to get the short end of the stick... Or they were up until the entire art boxing them into this nightmare shattered as a lone individual fell through the sky and broke everything apart, freeing everyone from captivity and dragging them back to a thew world of frost and snow they were familiar with. Saved by the bell, the patriarch was willing to kiss this last second savior on the lips and bow before them... Unfortunately, however, it was his most hated mortal enemy of perhaps all time and the person who was arguably responsible for them being in this position to being with! "ARES!" The patriarch growled and wagged his fist at the culprit who crashed into the ground and was now buried like an ostrich. The patriarch was effectively arguing with Ares partially scorched butt, which did his image no favours, but he was too blinded by anger to care!
As for Ares himself, he was pretty dazed. He'd been falling towards an empty space but a dark dome suddenly appeared directly in the line of his crash landing and he couldn't avoid it. Not knowing what it was, he took full offensive measures and blasted a hole into it by dropping a bag of Shock Beads on it and making it go kaboom. He then opened his Zephyr and slowed his fall such that he wouldn't die upon contact with the ground and, from there, wound up surrounded by three different groups who all seemed to have it out for him. He recognised two of the three groups, he'd seen this venator before and the patriarch of the Thrones was self-explanatory... But this third guy... Even from afar he knew this man was trouble but seeing him up close only reaffirmed that belief. Fortunately this unknown man didn't appear to be too hostile but saying he was friendly was a lie. There was apprehension and tension as they both sized each other up, unsure of how to treat one another. Regardless, there were going to be some interesting negotiations coming up. Only one person, Ares that is, even knew about the mountain that was about to crush everyone here after all!