[OPEN] FROM RIFTWATCH WITH LOVE: PART ONE

[unshut]

WHO: Everyone and anyone
WHAT: An abomination redecorates the Gallows.
WHEN: Early August
WHERE: The Gallows
NOTES: Part One of FROM RIFTWATCH WITH LOVE. Will include some violence, some general chaos, and some light murderin'.

There is a man in a worn traveling cloak. He is dark haired, with sharp features dominated by a dark horizontal scar near his hairline, and later someone will describe him as having been soft spoken when he asked for directions.

But something in the Gallows' dining hall, with its unreliable population for the midday meal, must catch under his skin; he's found his voice again by the time he steps up onto one of the benches.

"Is this all of you?"

Someone nearby tells him to get his boots off the furniture, so the man climbs higher onto the table and is louder the second time: "Is this really all you are? A few people in a tower on an island?"

Heads are coming up. As his voice rises, he produces an envelope from his pocket.

"Do you think this is funny? Playing at being something, and telling people you can make a difference to them? You were supposed to be helping, but you're all just sitting here! Don't touch me"—to someone encouraging him to get off the fucking table—"You were meant to be helping us. You promised you would, and I told her I believed you!"

Hands are reaching for him. No, really, get off the table. You can explain what's wrong once you're down; you're with friends— The man jerks his arm free, snarling, "Don't touch me! You're nothing!" A stronger hand finds him then and begins pulling him struggling down. With a wrenched cry of, "Livia!" the man slips from the table.

A column of fire pours upward out of him like molten heat from a crack in the earth. It bursts so high that it scorches a circle on the dining hall ceiling, and burns so suddenly hot that it sends those nearest to him recoiling backward as their clothes catch. The fire licks again in random directions, in chaotic fits and starts of light and heat, and the thing that rises up again in the mage's place isn't really a man at all.

The rage abomination will ravage its way through the dining hall and prodigious Gallows kitchens, then out into the courtyard beyond leaving considerable destruction in its wake until finally brought down by Leander. In the charred aftermath, the following can be recovered from among the mage's belongings: a leather corded bracelet with a green bead woven in it (too small for anything but the smallest wrist), a functioning phylactery, and a letter from "Riftwatch" which implies a history of correspondence and familiarly refers to the recipient by name, 'Felix.' An investigation of Riftwatch's files will reveal the log of having received a message from a similar Felix, No Lastname six months earlier. The message itself is nowhere to be found among the Gallows records.

The recovered letter assures Felix that all will be well, and includes instructions to wait in the woods above the crossroads of a small Wildervale village.

'Help will be on its way. Good luck, and safe travels.'

Comments

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W1jc2fPiuBQ

[heorte]

His first thought is that he's collided with Sister Sara. There is no one of that height who he saw upon his arrival to the hall that matches, but when he turns—

For a brief moment, he can't come up with a name. The shock of recognition in the midst of the adrenaline of an active threat leaves him with just the instant, immediate knowledge of you, I know you and you are not meant to be here before a gout of flame sizzles past them both, inches from Ellis.

"Get down," he says, half pushing Vance towards an upended table. His mace is god knows where, and could he even get close enough to that thing to land a blow without being melted down to nothing?

does that make sara sassy

[pittance]

He doesn't need to be told twice. Flagstones fill beneath his palm, improbably cool and still. Memory flickers —

Divides: A howl in the desert, Jaan's hand upon his tiny shoulder. I know you,

— Reforms about a familiar silhouette. He rips Ellis down in turn, yanking from one blistered fist. I know you, Gangue.

"Water," He shouts to be heard above the pounding of rock; the roar of flames. Someone at the end of the hall is screaming, "Where's the water?"

All around this little island. They must bring in fresh somehow.

you bet

[heorte]

"Kitchen?"

Ellis doesn't have an answer, just a guess.

"It won't matter until he's dead."

The reality of this moment is sinking in. Vance. If he weren't sporting burns, Ellis might think he were hallucinating. He arches up to peer over the edge of the table, watching the creature moving.

"I can't tell if they're corralling him out or if he's moving on his own."

[pittance]

"Won't matter," That echo has teeth. Ellis, he knows Ellis, like the stink of his own cooked skin — "They get him out, go for the water."

Neither of them's stopping that thing barehanded, but there were people in this hall. People who might need digging out. He shoves himself up, into the narrow gap, throws an arm over his mouth. Black smoke billows and stings. Choked:

"Say when."

Lookout-ass-tall motherfucker.

[heorte]

This is chaos. Even without Vance, it is too much to process. But Ellis doesn't have the luxury of a breakdown, not now.

"Wait," Ellis hisses, pushing up further, trying to get a sense of who is where. The light of the creature is blinding when it is throwing magma.

"You need to cut to the right. There's—"

His voice breaks as he ducks back down, avoiding an errant splash of fire.

"There's two under a table. Still moving."

And it's moving into the kitchen. That's the bad news Ellis hasn't quite decided how to impart.

[pittance]

That hiss stings a long prickle up his arms, nerves struck and burning with —

Actual burning, probably, but that doesn't better the company. He thumps his fist twice (light, could be a lot lighter) at Ellis' ribs: Got it, let's go,

And then he's moving, a mad scramble-sprint across the slate. He's maybe ten feet into the open before he recognizes the demon's direction, a blaze in the dark that shudders and flows into the exact space it needs.

The space that they do. It's ten feet too late to stop; there were people in the hall, there are people in the kitchens, too. It sloughs toward a great fireplace, and his step stutters — a beat that almost trips itself.

Neither of them's stopping it. If they draw its attention, there are no guarantees.

[heorte]

Is this advisable? Possibly not.

But neither of them are made to hide behind a table, and the warning thumb from Vance is a clear indicator that he will not entertain it. So neither of them have armor, or are equipped for a fight. He's still on Vance's heels when the obvious route makes itself clear to him.

In one smooth motion, he grabs what's left of the crockery on one table and starts throwing them. A few shatter at the ground near it's feet and along the debris it's left in it's wake, but one or two hit enough to get it's attention.

But hey, what now?

Ellis has never really regretted his inattention to ranged weapons training, but it would have come in handy.