![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
PRIDE BEFORE A FALL | Closed.
WHO: Lakshmi + Coupe, Kitty, Gwenaelle, Helena, Iorveth, Marcoulf, Merrill, Solas.
WHAT: Fade cannonball
WHEN: You can't make me date you
WHERE: The Free Marches
NOTES: OOC Post, Discussion plurk.
WHAT: Fade cannonball
WHEN: You can't make me date you
WHERE: The Free Marches
NOTES: OOC Post, Discussion plurk.
   |    |
This is routine.
A rift, high above the ruins of the Hammer’s Edge Bridge. It cuts into the sky, green and pulsing as a wound to spit out spirits like misery. This is routine — but the position is precarious, so near to a cliff ledge. Watch your footing, a fall promises only sharp rocks and water below.
The task is straightforward: Close the tear, or provide a diversion for the Rifters doing so. Keep yourself alive, and keep your hand to the task, no matter how it aches. When respite comes, it’s a matter of seconds: The Rift stabilizes, and,
And Lakshmi breaks from the group. Moving fast (too considered for the pace, every demon dodged, never a misstep on the odd root or rock) as she sprints for the edge. Maybe you tried to grab her, stop her, stop someone else from grabbing her.
She launches herself legs out, flatly determined in her aim —
Maybe it’s only that like it or not, she’s going through that rift. Maybe it’s that there’s no good reason not to join her. Maybe it’s that everyone else is jumping too.
Routine, right?
no subject
They usually do more than that: Shudder, struggle, strive. Dying is a process; time dilates about those seconds, blooms with the base instinct to survive. A life may gutter,
It seldom snuffs out clean. ]
Kitty, [ Where are they? Where, in more than the most obvious — this isn't anything like the stories she's heard. It's far too much like them. Hushed, intent: ] We need to go.
no subject
Silver. Do you have any silver on you? If it comes - it can't abide silver.
no subject
[ It's not a lie. It's also not easily-accessible. A gauntlet extends for Kitty's hand to take (the silver). It'd be a hell of a thing, to die tripping over a rock in the black: ]
The darkness. Back or through?
[ Towards the laughter, else away — they've little hope of more complicated bearings. Something scrapes, drags across stone from behind. Flames crackle into life from the end of Wren's blade. ]
no subject
[ The light is a comfort. Her breath comes a little easier, not to be in complete darkness. She twists around, searching - ]
There. The door to the tomb.
[ And then she sees the gauntlet held out to her, and she shakes her head - ]
Keep it. For yourself. I can fend off its magic better than you can. [ A hell of a thing to say to a templar, but she seems certain. ]
no subject
[ Comes the first, automatic response, sword held aloft to illuminate the doorway (still too distant). The trouble of seeing is being seen, but there'll be time for that once,
Once the spirit's gone. A spirit this is, but who can say how much Kitty's mind might press against it?
Hissed, low: ]
— What do you mean?
no subject
I'm immune to magic. Have been all my life. I don't know why, not really, but - I've used it to fight demons and spirits before. So if it goes for you, if it tries to hurt you with magic, let me get in the way and take the blow.
no subject
A breath. Thoughts spreading too far for the knowledge of it to catch. Do not be foolish, immune or otherwise (if the girl believes it, might that make it true?) Kitty's a slight thing. The wrong bit of debris could end this.
But they don't have an abundance of time to argue. She's blocked and hauled men before — can do so now, if need be. Better that the girl's not watching for it. Not ready to fight her, when they may need fight this thing ahead.
A nod,
"You are armed?"
Confirmation.