PRIDE BEFORE A FALL | Closed.

[limier]

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.

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?

 

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[aenseidhe]

Iorveth had been right behind Lakshmi and Wren, not sure if it was the panic over Lakshmi, or the vague wonder what returning from the portals that spit them out would do, but either way, here he is, pushing himself up from the ground not but a couple yards from where Wren fell.

And then he sees what's around him. And then he does about the same thing Wren did.

"Eveigh Henn, eiw's ninnau."

Fucking pray, because what the actual living hell is this place? He's never been much a friend of mages, and the closest he'd gotten to something like this was wandering through the wraith war curse on Pontar Valley. This place is something else entirely, and he doesn't have a Witcher here to tell him how to deal with it.

He has a Templar, who looks just as lost as he does. And, noticeably, he has only the Templar, Iorveth's head snapping around as he picks himself up, scanning for the others. More so, scanning for Gwen. "Where'd Lakshmi fall? And the others?"

[limier]

"The others?" Half aghast. There shouldn’t be others — bad enough to be stranded for Lakshmi's foolishness, but to think that any would follow — "I lost hold."

A glance from the traitorous hand to Iorveth’s half-face, obscured by so much rotten meat. Or, no. No, only cloth, as ever. She blinks.

(Flies in your eyes. Flies in the socket,)

"We need stick close." Won’t that be fun. Heaves out a breath: "I cannot say how much our presence might alter."

Her eyes tear again to his cheek, involuntary. Skin crawls impossibly to watch.

[aenseidhe]

"I saw at least Gwenaelle following." Because he'd been keeping a hawk eye on her for this entire journey. Defiantly brave of a woman as she is, she's no warrior, no soldier. He wouldn't handle her with kid gloves and try to limit her, but he would, at the very least, keep a watchful eye on her in case she got in over her head.

This is probably well over her head. But here we are, regardless. "I can't say how many others."

His eyes pull back to Coupe after he's scanned the area, and Iorveth has to blink rapidly several times to wash away the visage of a blood-splattered Redanian soldier instead of simple Templar armor and this woman he hardly knows.

Iorveth gives her a curt nod, beginning to look for where they ought to search first.

"This place - it's the Fade, isn't it?" He's heard plenty enough description of it, and stories of both fear and wonder. They don't seem to match up exactly to the reality of it.