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?

 

Comments

[shri]

It's only that she finally registers Gwen beyond her clothes that she finally sees the danger, the next step in what is about to happen. That, she finally realises where she knows this man from, knows these loose clothes from. That must mean the child in her hands -

"Stop, don't go out the door!"

It isn't an order, it's desperate, peaked with a fear that she never let dare reach her voice if it not for what she knew was coming. The child is desperately wrapped in her arms. Wriggling, churning, screaming and screaming and screaming. Getting stronger and stronger -

The doors slam shut, before it gets much further. But underneath them, light flickers, like a fire burns. The place still cool, but the play of fire becomes brilliant, licking in through the windows with tongues of flame. Like it meant to burn everything down. Of this room that was was home, and not home at all.

- And the child keeps screaming.

[elegiaque]

The overwhelming feeling here is, more than anything, irritation. First Lakshmi strands them all in the Fade, and now she's trapped Gwenaëlle in whatever hallucination this is; not real is different, she suspects, to not dangerous. If she dies here because Lakshmi just believed really hard that she could, she's going to come back as a spirit, possess her and run her face repeatedly into a wall.

But that's later. Right now, she runs her hands down without looking; everything where she expects it. Bow, arrows, sword. Knives. Sturdy armor. As long as she doesn't look, she thinks, she knows what she has.

If this is Lakshmi's history, knocking her out might do the trick, but with the memory of how great trying anything similar went for her not long ago still turning her stomach she discards the idea quickly and frowns.


...window it is.

[shri]

The warning is all that comes, as the little girl - remember that first girl, Lakshmi? Remember what it took from you? Remember what you took from yourself? You will never get it back - squirms, squalls, her screaming louder and louder as Lakshmi is barely able to hold her.

Then she can't at all, as one long, clawed arm swipes out from within the blankets. It strikes Lakshmi with a force enough to knock her back, the bundle dropping out of her hands onto the ground, she trips, falls on the edge of her skirt. Lands hard and scrambles in the frantic nature of knowing just what comes next. As one beastly arm follows another, crawling and tearing blankets to shreds. Until it finally reveals itself in full.

The pureblood stands easily over the height of even a tall man. It's bulking, hulking form all tight muscles and thick grey hair. Its breath is rotting flesh, its claws tacky with blood. It's a voice rumbles thickly in mockery, deeper and ugly. "Stupid Bitch, did you really think you'd be able to stop us?." It starts to laugh, it's great shoulders rising and falling over it. "Listen to your people squeal! We will be full on their blood tonight, and you will know all their deaths before the end."

The screaming begins to pour in and isn't the battle cries of proud defence. It's the sickly pitch of fear beyond belief of horror that is being inflicted and cannot be escaped from, the off notes that can only be flesh being ripped apart, until it's so loud, the room is filled with it, until the blood oozes from between the stones of the floor, pooling in the cracks. When it finally grabs Lakshmi, it's hand grabs her whole face. Picking her up easily in one hand. Even as she tries to claw at its arms, tries to get free, all her fine clothes, fine jewels, jingling and clattering as she tries to swing and kick.

It turns, enjoying playing with its food, and it's then that it catches sight of Gwen, "More of you?" Its head lifts up, sniffing the air richly. "Another human. Would you be better before, or after I taste Queen?"

[elegiaque]

The demon—for whatever Lakshmi is seeing, that's what it must be—prompts a redoubled effort to escape, Gwenaëlle's anchor-hand coming up behind her and flaring to life with her shield while she struggles with the window latch and then abandons it entirely, reversing the hilt of her sword to smash it off.

Fuck this.

[shri]

It starts to laugh and tosses Lakshmi - like a sack of potatoes. Slamming into the ground with an almighty crash of her jewellery like broken bells, rolling useless onto her side as the pain lanced through her. Spitting up a mouthful of blood for it - broken something surely. Desperately trying to draw her way across the floor towards - something.

Not that the Lycan cares, stops, or even looks back as it drops down on all fours and clears the space of the room in two full strides of its twisted body. To slam hard into Gwenaelle's side. Rushing her to knock her away from the window and looking to pounce and drag her down. Under it, so it can sink hugely, gaping jaws into soft flesh. The stink of it even worse up close, Lakshmi knew, it was repulsive, sickening. That dog slobber not lessened simply because it was a man in another form. That wet, long tongue that sticks out to lick at her face with another barking laugh.

"Just a little taste, two-legger, of your pretty, pretty face. Promise not to take more than one. Leave you something special for your beloved to look on." Wheezing, chuckling, playing with its food and enjoying it.

[elegiaque]

The shield keeps it from connecting jaws to flesh, barely, and gives her enough space to brace herself, reverse her hand and throw it off her with a sudden bolt of fade energy—it's still between her and the door, and Lakshmi hardly seems useful on the floor.

For a lack of better options, still slamming her sword against the window, Gwenaëlle—

screams for Coupe. Anyone will do.

[chainlightning]

She does not want to go back into the nursery. Does not- but she hears the scream and it sounds real, at least in that it's an adult screaming for Coupe. It's Gwenaëlle, she realizes suddenly-

-and maybe Asher is with them even in the Fade, because Merrill slams into the room with strength more akin to an Avvar warrior than a Dalish mage. Ice is flung in sharp spikes at the werewolf-demon-thing, Merrill swinging her staff to follow through, to shove it in between its gaping maw and Lakshmi.

This is not the first werewolf that Merrill has ever met. They die like anything else.

[shri]

It howls in immediate pain, it's head thrown back. Teeth biting and gnashing at the air. The response is immediate, it turns on its heel, Gwenaelle forgot, as it runs towards Merill. It's long strides loping as beasts are want. Hitting the ground in a rhythm of clicking claws on stone floors. Rising up on its back legs to bring itself up to its full height to tower high over her, ready to bring itself back down, claws into her skull.

There isn't much finesse to how Lakshmi stands up again, crawling her way up off the floor. Bleeding from the gouges down her face, where its claws had sunk into her cheek. There isn't much finesse either, to how she rushes forward while it's distracted to stab her long-sword straight into the side of the beast. Into its soft belly, thrusting deep and hard into it.

But whatever the damage to the damn thing, it keeps on kicking. Twisting about in pain, arms flailing to strike whoever might be closer to it.

[elegiaque]

Pressed back to the window like an angry cat, Gwenaëlle is not—and has no intention of being—closer to it. The weight on her back is not a rifle, but a bow, and though she's far from being the most accomplished archer she is sufficiently confident when presented with the broad back of her target. If she misses, it won't hit Merrill, obscured from her by the thing's size, and if it hits Lakshmi, well, maybe she shouldn't have dragged everyone into the fade in the first place.

But it strikes the beast, somewhere in the back where she had been aiming for the knee. Close enough. She fires again, arrows trailing ice.

[chainlightning]

The werewolf is flailing, kicking; it's a monstrous thing, made for hunting and the kill. Merrill has no intention of letting any of them fall to it. Claws have gauged down into her scalp and jerked away suddenly as Lakshmi stabs it - the blood runs down her cheek, a familiar warm, wet sensation that can be dealt with later.

The beast is grounded, thanks to Lakshmi; it's hit again, thanks to Gwenaëlle. Merrill throws more ice at it, trying to pin it down in frozen liquid, trying to stop its flailing by literally freezing it.

[shri]

Pained and dying, it's body begins thrashing in the agony of it. Its death will not be a pretty thing. Hobbling with the wound to its back that Gwenaelle lands. Favouring its side and trapped in ice it does everything it can to break free. Arms flying about. But it's leg remain steadfastly caught in that ice. Trapped and so limited, unable to run any further.

Nothing clean to it. Lakshmi jumps forward, the sword in both hands. Screaming something hideous as she begins to chop down. Again and again and again, into its body. The blood splatters, until it half blinds her in the rage of it. As close as she comes to losing control over anything at all. It's body beginning to break under the onslaught. Until one arm begins to hang loose barely attached, organs spilling out of a belly wound.

Enough blood, that she doesn't begin to see when the beast starts to transform back, becoming smaller and smaller, form distorting. Claws that pop and break and snap to form back into hands. A spine that twists and writhes under the skin as it shrinks. Hair that falls out by wet clumps.

Lakshmi stumbles, over landing her blow when it's finally a human again. Only, not even so big. Smaller, finer, and the body that hits the ground isn't even full grown. Long black hair twists in the blood crumbled like a doll.

The girl couldn't be older than six when her body hits the floor.

[elegiaque]

By this point, Gwenaëlle is sick to her back teeth of Lakshmi, of the Fade, and of this fucking demon in particular. Whatever game it's playing with them, it's sick and there is nothing about this situation that doesn't thoroughly disgust her. Not least of all being her inability to leave certain ungrateful rifters to it—

It's with a jaundiced, furious gaze that she regards the form this demon would like her to imagine is a child, and she doesn't leave a great deal of time for anyone else to wail over the terribly slight form; when she draws her boot back, it catches the body in the gut, kicking it clear out of the way to slide hard against the far wall.

And that is what she thinks about that obscenity of hallucination.

“If we're all quite fucking done,” jerking the door open and not bothering to look back and see if, indeed, we are.

[chainlightning]

Well.

Merrill eyes the body with suspicion; it's still there, which she doesn't like the idea of. She adds more ice, trying to seal the thing to the floor and its new spot against the far wall; if this is a trick, if it isn't dead, she doesn't want it moving after them soon.

"Almost," she informs Gwen, almost absently. "But it's still got a form, so I'm going to make sure it doesn't follow."

[shri]

The blood streaks down her face - the sweat stinging in her eyes. Her fingers curl heavy on the handle of the blade. Silent, for once, utterly still in the horror of what she's done.

That child's face could not be carved more deeply, more truly, into her mind.

But as Merrill goes to move she - hard fingers to her sleeve, pulling elf woman back before she can take a step forward. "Follow her - she isn't a warrior." Her chin jerks after Gwen. Then just in case, Merrill feels like she must. "It bears the face of my own people. It is my duty, not yours."