Rites

Elegy of the Defeated

The Sultan's blade cleaves through the air straight for your face. Yet in that moment before death descends, you catch something in the cruel monarch's eyes – an undertow of regret, perhaps even... compassion...

ID: 5006082

Type: End

Tips: None

Duration: 0 days

Waits For: 0 days

Marked as New Only on First Occurrence: 0

Starts Automatically: Yes

Triggers Result Automatically: No

Tag Tips: None

Tag Tips Up: Fight Result, Combat, Physique

Tag Tips Text:

Random Text: None

Random Text Up:

Roll #1
IT'S NOW OR NEVER!
Type: Fight Result
Type Tips: The number of dice provided by Combat and Physique is affected by the opponent's corresponding attributes.
Low Target: 10
Low Target Tips: You need at least 10 Successes to win.
Roll #2
At this moment, you fight not just for yourself
Type: Fight Result
Type Tips: The number of dice provided by Combat and Physique is affected by the opponent's corresponding attributes.
Low Target: 5
Low Target Tips: You need at least 5 Successes.

Actions When Wait Expires

This rite has no actions when the wait expires.

Slots

Slot #1
Sultan

Locks: Yes

Is Key: No

Is Empty: No

Is Enemy: Yes

Conditions:

Pops: None

Slot #2
Death looms over you

Locks: Yes

Is Key: No

Is Empty: No

Is Enemy: No

Conditions:

Pops: None

Slot #3
The dragon's lifeless eyes seem to still watch this battle...

Locks: Yes

Is Key: No

Is Empty: No

Is Enemy: Yes

Conditions:

Pops: None

Slot #4
Consumable

Locks: No

Is Key: No

Is Empty: Yes

Is Enemy: No

Conditions:

Pops: None

Slot #5
Homeland's Avenger

Locks: Yes

Is Key: No

Is Empty: Yes

Is Enemy: No

Conditions:

Pops: None

Slot #6
Wrath of the People

Locks: Yes

Is Key: No

Is Empty: Yes

Is Enemy: No

Conditions:

Pops: None

Activation Conditions

This rite has no activation conditions.

Outcome

Prior

This rite has no prior outcome.

Regular

This rite has no regular outcome.

Extra

But perhaps it was just your illusion
Without mercy, the blade severs your final tether to this mortal world with brutal precision – as if even the slightest hesitation would be an insult to this battle.



The Sultan wipes his blade clean with his sleeve as the warrior's phantom fades into nothing... His sigh speaks of boredom. Soon, servants will scrub the blood from the floor. Soon, the dragon's head will be just another forgotten piece in his collection. He will return to his golden throne, gazing down at the ant-like crowd below. There he'll sit, wondering how to while away these endless days... None of this concerns you anymore.

Conditions:

Action:

Avenger
However, such compassion is nothing but your illusion. The Sultan's blade arcs towards you with crushing force, merciless and determined – as if the slightest hesitation would be an insult to this battle. In that very moment, a golden sword hurls through the air, knocking the scimitar off course before dissolving into dust.

What was that? There's no time to think. Death's whisper brushes past your hair as you spring backward, away from the Sultan.

The Sultan makes no pursuit. "Oh?" He watches the newcomer with keen interest.

The assassin – or say, the swordsman, the avenger from the past – steps slowly into the hall. In one fluid motion, he draws a long dagger and surges toward the Sultan with wind-like grace, his blade cutting a deadly arc!

"Ha, perfect timing!" The Sultan's laughter booms as his scimitar dances – a piercing shriek of steel as he steps aside to evade the destined strike, then with a twist of his wrist, brings the blade crashing down upon the swordsman!

Conditions:

Blade of Vengeance
You have no idea how long this battle has lasted – all you know is that every bone and drop of blood in your body burns like fire.

Though you and [s5.name] have rarely fought side by side, an unspoken understanding connects you both – the potential heir to the throne and the prince of the Homeland. A single glance is all it takes to read each other's intentions. You advance and retreat in perfect harmony, balancing offense and defense – yet even so, the Sultan maintains his dominance!

Your weapons are the first to give in, shattering into two pieces, then two more. In the end, [s5.name] can no longer hold his long dagger. Nearly collapsing from exhaustion, he falls to one knee, allowing the Sultan's blade to pierce through his shoulder. The cold steel reflects the twisted grin on the Sultan's face. He twists the blade cruelly, but as he pulls it back, [s5.name] grabs the blade with his bare hands, holding it in place with sheer will.

In that fleeting moment of shock, in that single opening, you move silently and muster every ounce of strength to plunge a golden sword into the Sultan's back! This is the Sword of Lament, the Sword of the Homeland, the Sword of Eternal Legacy: forever bound to return to the hands of the ruler willing to wield it!

The Roaming Swordsman smiles. With great effort, he pulls the curved blade from his body and tosses it to the ground like trash. Blood pours from between his fingers as he clutches his wound, "yet he seems to feel no pain at all.

You hear him reciting an ancient prayer. Then, a gentle breeze stirs, lifting nine flowing veils that wipe away the blood streaming from his wounds. At last, this man – whose kingdom, kin, and name were all erased by the Sultan – has fulfilled his vengeance.

Conditions:

Result:

Action:

Like a Candle Burning Itself Away
You have no idea how long this battle has lasted – all you know is that every bone and drop of blood in your body burns like fire.

Your weapons are the first to give in, shattering into two pieces, then two more, until they are completely destroyed, rendered useless for battle. In that moment, the golden sword unexpectedly reappears in [s5.name]'s hand. This is the Sword of Lament, the Sword of the Homeland, the Sword of Eternal Legacy: forever bound to return to the hands of the ruler willing to wield it!

The Sultan laughs maniacally, his intricate sword dance ringing with sharp clangs as he forces the Sword of Lament into submission, as though he were hammering an unruly nail into place. Many years ago, he had pulled it out. Now, it still brings him a sliver of joy – but it's not enough, never enough! His overwhelming killing intent shatters lamentation, resentment, and hatred, crushing everything weak, humble, and despicable in its wake. Through the smeared blood, he searches for even the faintest thing that might rouse his interest - but nothing remains, nothing anymore.

Showing nothing but boredom, he sheaths his scimitar and steps over the scattered corpses. Soon, servants will scrub the blood from the floor. Soon, the dragon's head will be just another forgotten piece in his collection. He will return to his golden throne, gazing down at the ant-like crowd below. There he'll sit, wondering how to while away these endless days... None of this concerns you anymore.

Conditions:

Result:

Action:

Only Your Illusion Before Death
The Sultan's blade arcs towards you with crushing force, merciless and determined – as if the slightest hesitation would be an insult to this battle.

Yet when death's breeze whispers across your face, the pain never comes. The golden scimitar stops before your eyes as your opponent's gaze shifts toward the palace gates. A tall, slender figure stands stark against the light, drawn perfectly straight – he exposes every weakness and vulnerability, only to raise his short bow, the black arrow trained unwaveringly on the Sultan.

The arrow seethes with terrible hatred and curses – it seems it would seek the Sultan's heart of its own accord, skilled aim or none. Yet he holds the arrow drawn. Perhaps it carries more power drawn on the string – or perhaps he lacks the courage to loose it, for merely stepping into this battle has already stripped away his resolve.

The Sultan's mocking laughter fills the air as he sneers at Nawfal's hesitation. His gaze fixes upon the black arrow as if drawn by its deadly promise – this is the very chance Nawfal has bought for you!

Conditions:

Their Names
One name after another falls from Nawfal's pale lips, heavy with sorrow yet strangely calm. Each name punctuates the ringing clash of blades between you and the Sultan. Yet it feels like an unending prayer, like a ceaseless curse.

There are so many names – some vaguely familiar, others completely unknown. They weave into threads, ropes, and cages, all straining to hold back the Sultan's savage onslaught. His eyes burn crimson with bestial fury, each swing of his blade punctuated by a thunderous roar. Until he is so overwhelmed by those names that he can no longer hold you down, can no longer respond calmly to your attacks in the midst of his rage.

You trade wound for wound, blood for blood, life for life. Until the final name is spoken, until the black shaft crumbles to ash, unable to bear the surging tide of will – at last, you drive your chipped, nearly broken blade into the Sultan's living throat, letting the flood of blood drown out his every word...

You see the Sultan's furious eyes, as if blaming you, blaming fate, for denying him a warrior's death. Then you turn to find Nawfal slumped on the ground, blood staining his lips, as if the shattering of the arrow had claimed a piece of his life and soul in tribute.

He looks at you, his eyes alone remaining as unyielding as stone. "Those names," he says, "belonged to the mortals the Sultan humiliated and slew."

Conditions:

Result:

Action:

Your Names
One name after another falls from Nawfal's pale lips, heavy with sorrow yet strangely calm. Each name punctuates the ringing clash of blades between you and the Sultan. Yet it feels like an unending prayer, like a ceaseless curse. There are so many names – some vaguely familiar, others completely unknown. They weave into threads, ropes, and cages, all straining to hold back the Sultan's savage onslaught. His eyes burn crimson with bestial fury, each swing of his blade punctuated by a thunderous roar. Until, at last, you can no longer withstand the relentless attacks. His blade finds its mark, pinning you to the ground. As your life slips away, all you can hear is a faint ringing in your ears. Your blood mingles with Nawfal's, and the Sultan picks up the black arrow – now dulled, like a piece of rusted iron.

“Interesting, very interesting." His laughter echoes with boundless madness. "Without your little reminder, I might have forgotten all these delightful deeds I've done. As a reward, I shall have your names etched alongside the others."

Conditions:

Result:

Action:

However, such compassion is nothing but your illusion. The Sultan's blade arcs towards you with crushing force, merciless and determined – as if the slightest hesitation would be an insult to this battle. In that very moment, a golden longsword slams against the Sultan's decisive strike. You see the roaming swordsman standing before you, his back turned to shield you. Meanwhile, you hear Nawfal's voice – he holds his short bow steady with the black arrow trained unwaveringly on the Sultan



One name after another falls from Nawfal's pale lips, heavy with sorrow yet strangely calm. Each name punctuates the ringing clash of blades between [s5.name] and the Sultan.



Some of those names are completely unfamiliar to you, while others feel faintly familiar. Suddenly, a strange illusion overtakes you – as though those names transform, here and now, into shattered cards, fluttering down and spilling drops of blood, each etched with faces of pain, fury, and defiance.



No, it's more than that... You also see something behind this battle:

Conditions:

Card Game
You see the magician pulling the strings of fate, treating people like game pieces; you see yourself, your companions, your enemies, all who insult and are insulted in turn, all who harm and are harmed. You all sit at her table, trapped in one endless game after another.

A thousand times, ten thousand times you weep, plead, struggle, your mind fracturing, your heart either hardening to steel or shattering into countless pieces, all to beg for one... ending that is not an ending at all. You stand battered, despairing, until...until the black arrow bursts forth, carrying with it countless betrayed souls, their shattered prayers transformed into tiny blessings, pouring into your hands.

In that critical moment, you shoulder the Sultan's heavy blade and, incredibly, begin to overpower him... The cards burn and spin, pulling at the strings of fate, choosing you over the Sultan—perhaps because hope still lives within you, or maybe simply because they find him more despicable.

With this borrowed strength, you drive the blade deep into the Sultan's body, letting his blood warm your toes. At last, you wake from your long illusion; you see [s5.name], battered and bloodied, lying on the ground, gazing up at the wind-stirred veils while murmuring prayers of his homeland. You see Nawfal, barely clinging to life, his eyes dim—as if that arrow, when loosed, had claimed a piece of his life and soul in tribute.

You stagger over, lifting them from the ground, then gently bumping fists. Perhaps this is still not the end, as cards continue brewing darkness somewhere in the world, but this time at least, you all made it through alive.

Conditions:

Result:

Action: