Battle Queen Crests

The Queen of Aurai surveyed this year's competitors, a parade of crests and coats of arms preparing to do battle. "Come to look down on us mere mortals, Queen Janna?" Qiyana's voice cut through her reverie. "Little queen," Janna returned, her voice as Icy as Aurai's famed winds. "I fight in the Tournament, year after year, so that my people's lives are sustained by crest magic." Undaunted, Qiyana rolled her eyes. Janna's hand curled around her staff and she spoke again. "Aurai is subject to magical fluctuations far greater than the rest of Elysia. If too many of you falter, my Queendom suffers. I will not risk our well-being on the skills of unproven queens." Before Qiyana could respond, the sound of horns blared out, and Janna soared into the air, floating high above the arena. Looking down upon the deadly menagerie within, she spotted a griffon lingering in the ruins of an old, broken tower, a manticore lying in wait nearby, and more beasts besides.

The Queen raiser her staff and called a mighty wind, blasting the tower to pieces atop the monsters within. Whipping her staff around, she swept away the second creature as quickly as the first. Then the next, and the next. Her crest glowed brighter with energy of each victory, and Janna smiled. Aurai was safe, in her capable hands.

Rell stood over the body of her former vizier, lance in hand, as the others scrambled into shadows they could hide in. 'We made you!' they cried, 'We're the reason you're here!' But their pleas fell on deaf ears: empowered by the mystic energies of the crown, the coat of arms, and her magical crest, Rell could only hear the throngs of Calamity's poor, her sick, her dying. A people whose magic was siphoned off by these well-heeled aristocrats to prop up a puppet queen. But now she had been crowned, and her trap had been sprung. All that remained was to deal with the treasonous vipers that too long had poisoned her fair Queendom. One step she took, and a great beast of armor and magic formed behind her. Another, and the old sorceries swirled around her, her regalia throbbing with her city's stolen power. She was the Queendom of Calamity now-her steward and champion-and she would bring magic back to it. If not for all Calamitans, then for the children of Calamity who admired her so, and who she loved. This was her solemn vow.

"You all die here," she promised. And true to her word, they did.

Diana closed her eyes, letting the tension drain from her shoulders. The crest had glowed when she reached out and plucked it from the altar, bypassing the Church's theocratic rituals. Leona had looked shocked, and then sad, but beneath it, Diana thought she could detect a hint of pride. However Leona felt, Diana had done what she knew was right. And now, Leona had come to her tent. Diana nodded. An invitation to enter, and to speak her mind. Leona pulled out a bundle from behind her shield. Almost an exact reproduction of Diana's ceremonial finery, except with the blazing gold accents of Leona's own armor. "For the Coronation. A gift to mend fences with the Faith. I don't expect you'd want it now." "I do if it's from you." Diana stepped close to Eos' former queen. "I'll wear it." "There's no reason left to wear it. Not after that." "Of course there is." Diana focused on breathing deeply, not letting her frustration with the whole damned system spill over onto Leona. "The people. That's why I returned." Leona exhaled. "I still don't understand you. But I trust you." "Come with me." Diana spoke impulsively, her fingers tangled in the rich fabric of Leona's gift. "Let them sort their mess out." "I swore an oath," Leona replied. Diana surveyed her and, reaching out one hand, closed the remaining distance between them.

"So did I." Her fingers skimmed across Leona's pale cheek, and Leona closed her eyes at the touch.

"It's her year Mara. Unless you'd want to pass Ixtal's crest to a lesser family?" "I just.. I fear she won't be a good queen." Mara looked over her shoulder anxiously at a stirring deeper in the garden. Convinced it was only a breeze, she turned back to her eldest sister. "Of course she won't be a good queen," Inessa countered immediately. "She was tiresome at her nomination, she'll be a showboat at the Coronation, but she's powerful enough to gather the magic we need... If she can control herself long enough to subdue the beasts and not her fellow Queens." Mara laughed. "Well that is the question, isn't it." Somewhere, a twig snapped. Neither sister turned to look, undisturbed by the sounds of the night around them. "It's only for a year," Inessa pointed out. "How much damage could she do?" Hidden among the vines, Qiyana burned with indignation. How dare they make such assumptions about her? Weaklings, on whom every luxury was wasted, underestimating her yet again. She turned from her sisters, storming back towards the palace. She spun her ohmlatl, commanding a breeze that blew the doors open wide before her. An entrance fit for Ixtal's elemental Queen. The crest glowed against her weapon's silver surface. Her crest, now. And once she bound it to her blood before the Tournament, her crest, always. The day was almost here. Her sisters would not dare defy her. And if they did...

Qiyana smirked.

The assassin moved swift and silent, hand raised to plunge the dagger into the Schemean queen's back. A black-gloved hand closed around the wrist holding the dagger. Katarina hadn't moved, simply reached behind her back and immobilized her would-be attacker. "You didn't really think you could sneak up on me, did you?" The purple-haired queen's smirk was indulgent, almost as though she'd receive a present. Without warning, she twisted; her assailant's bones ground together audibly and she bit back a scream. Katarina laughed. "We see what you're doing," the would-be assassin spat. Her voice was tight with pain; if she tried to move, it would break her wrist. "Leading Schema to our rightful place?" Katarina gloated. "So they send an assassin against the queen of assassins. How did you expect that to go?" Katarina's blade didn't give her a chance to answer. As the life drained from her attacker's eyes, the queen studied her the pitiful challenger at her feet.

"You should manage your expectations better," she crooned, picking up the assassin's now-abandoned blade. "Soon I'll be the Queen of Queens. And I won't forget this."