faderift | (OPEN) There's always more to you than there are of them

Entry tags:

(OPEN) There's always more to you than there are of them

WHO: Abby n' pals
WHAT: Catch-all open log for the month
WHEN: September
WHERE: All about
NOTES: Will update as needed. If you'd like something specific, hit me up and I'll write you a starter!

𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐝𝐮𝐭𝐲
Abby is stationed out on the docks this evening, a posted sentry in charge of Riftwatch's section of the piers on an unusually still night. The air coming in off of the ocean is cool. The weather could stand to be a lot worse, but it's not the most exciting job to have been assigned. She's been standing here for an hour already with a few to go, whiling away the time by idly stretching, and shadowboxing the space in front of her when nobody is around to catch her doing it.

It's odd, not having to stand around and specifically listen out for sounds of infected. Abby keeps thinking that she'll hear one, the old expectation lingering in the back of her mind. Maybe it's for that reason that a sudden stagger of footsteps has her reacting instinctively, defensively.

She draws her sword. It's nothing fancy, basic issue, and she has only half of her armor on for this watch: a cuirass on over a long-sleeved, quilted shirt to keep her warm.

"Who's there."

𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦, [𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝]
It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Leave a little something, nothing– exorbitant, or dramatic. It gave Abby time to sit down and pen a few things to people she has been deliberately keeping herself from thinking about and it helped in the smallest of ways to get it out and then leave it behind.

It takes a few days after the disastrous run in with Ellie for Abby to realise that what she's left there could be read by anybody passing through, but she wouldn't– would she? The possibility clings to her anyway, and makes her feel self-conscious. Those words weren't meant for anybody else.

So she trails down toward the courtyard the very same day the moment dusk falls to retrieve them, but– well, she didn't mark her notes on the outside and a lot of people have been here both before and after her.

Abby has to search, painstakingly careful with the folded pieces of paper that don't turn out to be hers.

𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐝
(If you feel like writing your own: Abby is usually found in the library, the training yard, out doing menial Gallows work for the Forces division, or exploring Kirkwall. If you have a dog fork it over)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Abby's a little rusty out of the gate. It takes a while to switch gears while her and Ellis canvas the early-morning land outside of the Gallows; she has to remember what she's looking for, and avoid distractions, filter everything else out. Ellis isn't speaking, which helps.

"... Look," she points out, after a good fifteen minutes of poking slowly through brush. There's telltale signs in the grass of deer having been here. They pull the grass out, they don't nibble like rabbits, and when Abby drops her gaze, she's pleased to discover a set of sharp-edged prints in the mud, pointing away from where they stand. Still got it.

"They're pretty fresh," she murmurs, squinting up through the trees, "Can't be too far ahead."

It is only luck that had stalled Ellis from saying somewhere in the course of their work that they might have brought Ellie, who is better with a bow than Ellis and one of the few he's aware of within Riftwatch.

Instead, they've moved in companionable quiet. Ellis has a bow, borrowed from the armory, and has been content enough to follow Abby's lead. His interjections have been few. Yes, he can track and yes, he can hunt, but he recognizes when someone else is in possession of the greater talent.

"Can you tell how many?" he asks her, hushed as he comes to a crouch beside her. "We'd do well with two brought back."

Which is true, it would be a boon to the kitchen to receive two deer. That it's also what their horses were capable of carrying back is only part of the calculation.

"... You're in luck. There's at least three." She points out the various tracks to him, blissfully unaware of having dodged Ellie Williams' unwelcome presence by the skin of her teeth. Some of the prints are too close to be anything other than signs of multiple animals. When she raises her head, she notices the little path: a line travelling through the grass, stomped flat by group effort.

"Went that way. C'mon, we'll see if we can circle around them."

She's glad he's got his bow. Abby's never been good at archery, her crossbow an exception (though all she had to do was aim and fire, rather than hold a string taut). "I could carry two, if we feel like over-achieving."

The look Ellis slants towards her carries some quiet amusement.

"Aye, we might consider over-achieving."

He has no doubts about Abby's ability to tote back what they fell. This quiet murmur carries them along as he follows after her, moving quietly through the brush. Abby knows where she's going, and Ellis only need shadow her silently, be mindful of where he places his feet so as not to create noise that carries.

"Where did you learn this?" is a murmur too, offered up the next moment she stops to check their path. Ellis has drawn the bow from his shoulder, but no arrow from the quiver. Not yet.

She's glad she doesn't have to tell him off for making extra noise, that he's capable, and knows what he's doing. Abby pushes forward with him at her back and she feels good about having him there, enough that she doesn't check over her shoulder once as she makes her way, heel to toe on each step to help muffle the tread.

Another crouch once she spots another cluster of tracks, her finger pressing into the middle of one curiously to check the wetness of the mud.

"... My dad taught me," she says, voice low and idle, her head lifting as she looks for her next clue, squinting into the sun. It's okay to make some noise, they won't scare anything away by talking gently to each other. The plains around them are loud enough, populated with bird song, and a water source nearby. "He used to work with animals."

There is something telling in the way Abby speaks of her father. Maybe Ellis' voice would sound something like that, were he to speak at any length of his own parents.

At which point he weighs up whether or not to follow her answer with further questions. The potential for prying at something painful to ward off any impulse towards curiosity.

"It'll come in handy for more than hunting here," is the direction Ellis settles on. "We've had to track Imperial soldiers more than once."

A flicker of humor over more than once. It's a war. Scouting an area for safety is a near daily occurrence in the field, when they can't get behind walls for the night.

Abby chuckles, the sound as breathy as she can make it to keep quiet, "That still sounds like hunting to me."

She's done that before. The idea clearly doesn't bother her.

As they crest a low rise, she holds out an arm to silently stop Ellis from continuing, gesturing over the top, and holding up three fingers. Then, she drops into a low crouch, shimmying up the top of the bank so she can see better over the top of it– three deers, grazing quietly, their ears flicking. Thankfully, down wind from them.

The silent instruction sees Ellis mirroring her, making himself low to the ground as he follows her movements up the bank. Ellis doesn't yet reach for the bow off his back, instead observing Abby's expression.

"That one first?" Ellis questions, picking out the furthest to the left. The doe has strayed slightly away from her fellows.

Despite Abby's profession that they can manage all three, Ellis is thinking more pragmatically. The doe is sizeable. If it's all they bring back, it will still be a successful hunt.

It's the most practical solution. She has a few knives on her person but she can't throw them worth a damn, and she'll only risk startling all three away if she tries. If they feel like they have to Abby can hunt something back down again at the cost of a few hours. Not like she doesn't have the time.

"Yeah." Fuck, if she had a gun... she misses her pack, her ammo, the holsters she'd strap to her legs, silencers, all of it. So annoying.

Ellis can take point, with his bow. He has the best shot.

Light magic? As in– not too complicated, nice to think about before bed... that kind of light? It's a joke that Lev would give her a real look for if he were around to hear her say it. Abby can see his face on the back of her eyelids, that little squint he does when he's utterly exasperated with her. She never thought she'd actually miss that stink-eye of his.

Glimmer is waiting for her in the yard when she arrives; Abby wasn't kidding about the armor, or the time it takes for her to don it. At least the walk has warmed her up. She's moving both easily and undoubtedly loudly.

"Thanks for this," she says, by way of greeting. "I appreciate it."

Sadly, it is not quite that kind of light. Glimmer is waiting, leaning on her staff and dressed in a padded gambeson that splits at the groin to cover her down to her knees. It's light armor, meant to protect her from light blows and so forth, but still keep her mobile. That's just how she likes to fight. Glimmer suppresses something like a giggle as she watches Abby clank up to her.

"No problem," she says. "I need the practice too." There's a pause as she eyes Abby up and down.

"How should we start?"

Abby has never had qualms about being sneaky before. Why start now? She's unconcerned that she arrives with great, clanking fanfare (though the look on Glimmer's face does make her briefly raise an eyebrow).

"I don't know," she admits, after a beat. Admittedly, Glimmer isn't wearing the right kind of armor for Abby to be swinging a sword at her, but the training yard is stocked with practice weapons. She crosses it in order to select something less lethal, hefting it in her hands.

"How about I charge you, and you do whatever you want to in order to stop that. Sound good?"

As Abby selects her training weapon, Glimmer begins stretching out and limbering up. When Abby returns, Glimmer lowers her staff into a guard position and grins. She wonders if maybe she should go easy on the teleportation at first. Abby probably isn't used to it... But then she'll need to get used to magic.

"Okay. Let's go." Glimmer isn't able to restrain her grin. When it comes down to it she really just loves a good scrap. Is that bad?

Glimmer is stretching across the way and it makes Abby grin to see it. She loves a good scrap too, made evident by the way she's bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet, keeping warm. "If I start trying to use this one-handed, yell at me."

She's getting better at curbing the impulse but the lighter the weapon is, the more inclined Abby is to try and wield it like a fucking crow-bar. She's supposed to be practicing, after all.

Abby paces in front of her for a silent moment, sizing her up, trying to keep her movements a surprise. When she finally bolts forward, it's with one shoulder forward, instinctively dropping her stance to try slamming it into Glimmer's sternum.

Glimmer knows that she can't teleport as much as she used to, but it's still just instinct for her, even after all this time out of practice. There's a twinge, a burst of sparkling light and Glimmer simply vanishes out of Abby's path to appear behind Abby.

"Not quick enough--!" Glimmer crows and there's a blast of light and energy. It's not enough to do serious harm, but if it hits Abby it'll feel a bit like having someone slam a well-swung practice weapon against her armor.

Abby has good reflexes but even she can't anticipate a move like this. She stumbles to a halt with a grunt of surprise, having expected her shoulder to make even the slightest bit of contact, and barely turns as Glimmer shouts from just behind her, the sound triumphant.

The blast both winds and over-balances her, and Abby goes forward, down onto her knees, her palms shooting out to catch herself before she hits the ground face first. Wow. That's something else for her to get used to. A different center of gravity, and the strange distribution of weight due to her armor.

"Christ," she pants, but doesn't miss a beat in whipping her sword around to try and get Glimmer in the ankles.

Glimmer is looking pretty smug and pleased with herself for the moment. That changes when Abby whips around with the practice sword. Glimmer had half-expected Abby to get back to her feet first and the attack from the ground catches her half-guard. She stumbles back, trying to be mindful of the need to preserve her energy for teleportation, then hisses as the blade catches her shin. There's a blossom of aching pain and she jumps back before leveling her staff.

"You're faster than I expected," she admits. "Nice." And then she lets loose another blast from her stuff, the pink and white sparkle of energy shooting towards Abby's chest.

"Not bad right," Abby pants, grinning- that's all the break she gets before she's surging up onto her feet to go after Glimmer again, but the energy catches her right in the breastplate and makes her stumble backward and stagger. Okay. Coming at her head on isn't going to work, she needs to think about this.

She leans into the momentum, taking herself a good few steps backward, her stride carrying her out of reach. Not out of range, of course, but maybe she can dodge better with more distance.

Also, taunt Glimmer into teleporting into her own range. "You just got the one trick? Or..."

"Oh, I have plenty of tricks," Glimmer crows in response. Of course, her bag is smaller than it used to be. Here teleportation is shorter ranged than it used to be and it wears her out faster--but at least she has her staff, right? She spins the staff in an arc and holds out a hand which begins to glow with that same pink-white light.

"You'd better get used to fighting people with 'em," she says and then vanishes in a cloud of sparkles and reappears in the air about about ten feet up, aiming a kick down at Abby.

"Yeah? Let's see, then." She really is mocking her now, watching her like a hawk to try and determine any tells that will alert her to the teleport before it happens, and–

There. Glimmer is gone at the same time that Abby turns sharply on her heel, ready to strike. Her sword slashes viciously through... air. But Glimmer crashes down out of the sky on top of her, and kicks her right in the shoulder that Ellie stabbed her in.

Abby yelps without meaning to, the armor taking most of the impact but still delivering a sharp twinge of pain that vibrates down her arm right to her fingers. She drops her sword with a clatter, and a curse.

Glimmer is all triumphant pride, until she realizes that it's possible that she's really hurt Abby when they're supposed to be practicing. She lands on her feet, stands with a grin--then realizes that Abby's sword is on the ground. She reaches out, touching a hand to the struck shoulder.

"Oh no! Oh no, are you okay? I'm sorry!" She's fussing and fretting almost right away.

"I'm fine," she says tightly, sucking in a breath, her hands on her hips. Rotating her shoulder in its socket isn't the nicest feeling, but the ache stretches out slowly as she wrings her hand. Would have hurt a lot more if she hadn't been wearing the armor.

"Sorry," she offers after a beat, her expression slightly sheepish as she ducks to retrieve her sword. "Should have said something. You good to keep going?"

"Are you sure? That looked like it really hurt. I wouldn't have hit you that hard if I knew you were already hurt--" Glimmer starts to protest, then trails off and sighs as Abby stoops to pick up her sword. She's reminded frustratingly enough of Adora and the struggle it had sometimes been to get that girl to slow down and take care of herself.

"Yeah, I'm good. Just go easy on yourself, okay? If you're not careful you might just hurt yourself worse..."

"Yeah, I'm sure." Abby waves her off; it's easier to skirt around the subject. She isn't talking about it, she's keeping that fateful encounter with Ellie close to her ribs. A bitter little secret. Who would she tell about it, anyway? She doesn't know anybody here well enough, she's still finding her place, and her people.

"I just have to get better at dodging you," she jokes, giving Glimmer a little 'come at me' gesture with one hand, sword at the ready again. "Don't hold back, okay."

Margaery's arrival marks the last part of what has felt like a long day. Abby's been run into the ground by a few different people already and by this point she's shed the various layers of her armor, electing to finish off her sparring in the clothing she had on underneath. Her sleeves are rolled up past her elbows and there are flyaways from her braid that have stuck to her forehead and temples with sweat, but all in all she seems grimly pleased with herself.

"Hey."

She pauses to wipe her brow off on her arm, dropping her sword by her side. She's finally used to the weight. It's starting to feel less and less foreign in her hand, "Let's see this dagger."

While Margaery often makes it a point to train herself, being smacked around by wooden sticks and chased in an effort to learn how to dodge is far less fun than playing observer. Thankfully, she's learned enough to have stretched before approaching Abby, wearing lighter layers than the dresses she typically floats around in, trousers suspiciously clean despite how worn they look.

"Hello," There's no helping the instinctive purr-like quality of her greeting, not when she's thoroughly enjoying the flex of muscles as Abby brings her arm up to wipe her brow. Still, even in her shameless appreciation, she's studying the other girl's form, surmising that in terms of strength, Abby would easily demolish her. But in speed, maybe she has more of a fighting chance?

"Here it is," she holds her hand out with the dagger laid across her open palm. A completely harmless picture. "You seem to be getting a handle on a sword rather quickly."

And yet, if Abby pauses to pay attention, she'll notice Margaery's eyes watching her not unlike a predator's, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

Edited 2021-09-09 18:01 (UTC)

The cleanliness and neatness of Margaery doesn't feel off-beat to Abby, who has long since surmised that Margaery is simply Like That; the purr is something she isn't expecting. Her gaze flickers to her face, eyebrows raising, an expression of interest there and gone again in the blink of an eye. She's not slow on the uptake or anything, she's just... filing that moment away for later, that's all.

"Thanks," she says idly, peering at the dagger. Honestly, she doesn't have a lot of experience with knives, or shorter blades. About as much as she did with swords when she first arrived, really. They aren't her style.

She's not paying special attention to Margaery's eyes, but there's a feeling there all the same, not unlike the one you get when you know somebody is watching and waiting for you to put a foot wrong. Abby doesn't react, she simply keeps her hand tight on her sword handle. She's picking up what Margaery is putting down. "Anything you wanted to go over in particular?"

There's a shadow of a smile as Margaery fights to suppress it; she's impressed by the easy avoidance and makes a note for that, too. "Probably footwork," she decides rather immediately, although it isn't without a wince. "I can move quickly, but I'd like to ensure that my feet are constantly instinctive in something like a fight. I've seen too many times where a trip or a fall is the reason a great fighter loses."

Stay on top. That's the unspoken motto for someone as unseasoned as her.

"Are you most comfortable with a sword?" Her question comes with a nod towards the blade in Abby's hand.

"No," Abby answers, and she's only honest because they're on the same side. "We don't use weapons like this back home. Even if we did, it's not my style."

She thinks that she would like it to be... there's a certain appeal to wielding a sword. It conjures up a cool image. She's embarrassed to admit to that out loud.

"I'd be more comfortable with a gun, but that isn't an option."

"A gun?" she repeats, brows wrinkling as her head tilts - reminiscent of a confused puppy. She thinks back to all the weaponry she's ever seen and comes up blank.

Gun. Such a small, deceptively easy word. It feels almost like a guttural noise in the throat and nothing more.

"I don't believe I've ever heard of such a thing. What are the skills necessary to wield one?"

Right. Most people who live here don't know what guns are.

"It's–" Like most things in her life that become automatic over time, Abby can't think of how she should even begin to describe it. By appearance, maybe. It's a shame she's finally stopped toting her useless handgun around because that would have helped, but she's long since given up on it. And home. Started to let go.

"They come in a lot of different sizes." She makes the shape of it with her thumb and forefinger anyway, pointing her index finger at Margaery. "But my favourite one was small." RIP the hunting pistol, taken from her far too soon. "They shoot bullets, that are made of... lead? I guess."

She clicks her thumb down, mimes a shot. "Really fast. They can rip through just about anything. I guess all you actually need is good aim."

She tries to imagine it, this tiny machine that fits comfortably in the slot of one's palm, capable of ripping through anything, and settles for thinking of tiny crossbows. With leaden projectiles.

"Your world must have been extremely dangerous," she says, quietly, because it's more to herself than Abby. "At least in our world, the most dangerous hidden weapon was wit to outsmart the enemy, or poison. But any strong weapon like that, capable of physical harm? Concealing it would be impossible."

After a contemplative pause, she goes on. "And I imagine, it doesn't matter then, how good of a shape you are in. Anyone, even someone physically weaker than you, could get the advantage, perhaps even kill you at a distance?"

Which could be said of archers, of course. But there's a deep color of envy in her voice, seeping it darker until Margaery visibly shakes herself off with a smile.

"I'm sorry. We're here to train, not to put our imaginations to use. Shall we begin?"

"They're loud," Abby admits, watching Margaery reckon with this information, "But shots can be silenced. And you can conceal a handgun with almost no trouble." That doesn't count for much. You assume everybody is armed until proven otherwise, or you deserve what you get for being naïve.

What she says next surprises Abby. She says nothing, simply raises a brow, and quietly fits this together from what she already knows of Margaery: that she's unfamiliar with holding a dagger, and that she's asked for help in learning how to use it.

It's interesting, that's all.

"Remind me to show you mine," she mentions, almost off-handedly. She's taking a step back so she can face Margaery from across the training yard, more than happy to begin, "I brought one through the Rift when I arrived.

Do you want to try attacking me?" Maybe she should put her breastplate back on. She retrieves it from the corner and straps it back on methodically, tugging at the fastenings one at a time.

Jone isn't one to last long in shadow, and any secrecy she may have had was incidental. Stepping from the dark is a tall woman with a broadly similar build to the swordswoman who confronts her. Six and a half foot tall, red hair framing a equine face, she considers her attacker while moving a wineskin down from her lips.

"I've seen you at the training ground," Jone thinks she has, anyway. She is awful with faces... and names. "What's your specialty?"

Jone looks at the sword, as though dubious.

Abby, who thinks she's still comfortably within the 'new' period enough to be acceptably slow at recognising anybody, takes a little more time to lower her sword than she probably should... but it seems fine. The wineskin indicates that her sudden companion isn't in the mood to fight.

"Uh," she says, glancing down at the sword in her grasp. It's... what she's trying to specialise in, but Abby knows what she'd do if something tried to attack her out of the blue.

She shows Jone her other fist. "These."

Jone considers that. She considers her own training methods, which largely rely on intuition. She considers how bad her gut instincts often are.

"How long you been using that?"

"What, this?" She wiggles her fingers, eyebrows bouncing, "Twenty-two years."

Bad joke, sorry, "Uh– since I got here. Couple months now, I guess. Never held a sword before that."

Jone lets out a snort of laughter. Was she like this when she was young? Is she just thinking like this because talking to a twenty-two year old makes her feel old? There's the real answer.

"What'd you use before this? A hand-axe?" She tilts her head to the side. "Swords're about maneuverability."

"Anything I could get my hands on, really." Can't afford to be picky in the middle of a tight situation. Pipes are just as good at bashing heads in as anything else.

"Is it that obvious that I don't know how to use this thing?" She tilts the sword in her hand, her grip loose.

She shrugs, kind and sort of empathetic. There's a special hell for big women in this world, and so a crude string of sympathy is hooked between them. Jone, who still prefers to feel nothing if at all possible, is tied inextricably.

"Could do some real damage, yeah," she says, "but good sword work is about finesse... look, I were a mercenary before this, and now they have me as a trainer. Professional bloody curiosity."

"Somebody else already suggested a mace." Abby doesn't know why she didn't try it then and there.

Actually, she does– because it's Arthurian, like all the best books she's ever read. Kinda romantic, in a way? Maybe Abby likes the idea of herself like that, even though it's stupid and unrealistic.

"I should just switch." Y'know, if finesse is that important.

"You've options," Jone says, studying the girl. It's hard to get the exact shape of her build under the armor, but she can take a guess-- or maybe she's just seeing herself, younger and less wretched. "Come round the training yard. I'll get you kitted with something more interesting."

"Sounds good to me."

It's slightly annoying that she didn't think of asking somebody this before she started messing around with the sword, but– well, she'd rather know a little bit than nothing at all, just in case. It isn't time wasted, not really.

"I'm Abby," she offers, both her name and an outstretched hand.

It's been quite fun to train like this, actually. He's used to these situations being either training dummies only or fighting in a life-or-death situation, so practicing with a person who doesn't want to kill him and vice versa is nice. Practicing with someone he has a jovial rapport with makes it even better. There are moments where his attempts to cast - still clumsy with a staff - don't quite work and he feels embarrassed for it but with Abby he can laugh it off. Likewise, some of the ways that Abby dodges out of the way of a fireball have immediately thrown him into laughter, doubling over at least once from how much his stomach hurt as a result.

Despite a clear and thorough talk beforehand, Allumin still goes as far as to devote a page of his spellbook (near the back, you never know, he may still want to use it for trying to write spells) to a little written agreement that Abby acknowledges the risks involved in his spells and is willing to train against them. Likewise Allumin agrees to recognize when it's no longer safe to continue training and cease it at the consideration for Abby's well-being. And despite that written agreement, it comes time for the part of training that he's been quietly dreading this whole time.

Fear.

In a battle its wide range is useful, but here he has to be mindful that there's enough room for no one else to get caught in its effect. It's already, thankfully, a less busy hour at the training grounds which is part of what he's been waiting for. The other part being he isn't really sure how Abby will react, and he's not sure how he'll deal with the consequences if someone disapproves despite every precaution. He takes in a breath.

"Abby? I'm going to try one of the um... scarier ones now," he calls out over to her, to at least give her some notice. He knows that in a fight there's no notice at all, no time to mentally prepare, and that mental fortitude is a key part of resisting this spell so giving her a warning lessens the chance it will work, but... It's the first time doing this and he doesn't know what sort of horrors she'll see. If her home really was as awful as it sounded based on context, it's better to give her that chance.

And, having given her some time to process the warning, he moves his staff in such a way as he needs to, drawing power from the Fade enough so that he can cast it. As whatever it is she fears manifests within the realm of only her vision, he hopes she has enough fortitude to resist. He watches, eyes flicking between her fact and her grip on her sword to see if it falls from her grasp upon being frightened, tries to see if her body language will shift to run away.

It's been fun, in an odd way. Allumin is easy to practice with because he switches off the moment she gets bored of the spell or almost really injured by something he's thrown at her (one fireball in particular almost singe her braid once; he immediately moves onto ice). Abby likes that it makes her think to watch his movements more closely. She gets a feel for the way that he casts his spells, and to look out for certain motions of his staff to understand what's coming next. It's a valuable session for the both of them.

By the time they roll around to fear, she assumes she's ready.

"Yeah, yeah." He's worried about her. It's nice, but unnecessary. Abby signed the thing, didn't she? She's shifting her weight to keep her muscles warm and ready, even though he's already warned her this isn't something that she can dodge. "Just do it!"

He does it. He parts the air with his staff, and Abby's vision goes abruptly dark at the edges. She opens her mouth to say something, but her voice falters, her heartbeat spiking abruptly as something huge and wet and visceral rears up through the gloom, reaching for her with a thousand limbs and mouths hanging open, dead tongues lolling out the sides–

Abby shivers through it, holding firm even as she takes one, unsteady step backward when the Rat King rushes her, blurring into a smear of white, pustuled flesh, and spatters of old, red gore. Her sword is still in her hand. She doesn't run, but blinks her way free, the vignette clearing as she shakes it off.

"... Holy fuck." She's not scared but her heart is pounding in surprise, her mouth open as she processes the attack. That was something else, but– lesser, without the sound of it roaring at her, and the stench of its breath. She shudders, revolted by her own memory, "That was– lifelike."

He's honestly relieved to see her shake it off without much of a problem - but there's no guarantee it will be that way every time. These spells can take a toll and even being distracted for a moment can put you in immense danger. It's good training, doing this, but at the same time after reading her reaction it's clear that whatever it is she saw was truly terrible and he dreads the thought of making her see it again just for preparedness-sake.

"Are you impressed?" He tries to be lighthearted about it instead of a big old 'I told you so' since, well, it's Abby's first time with this kind of magic. Then, after a moment he says, "Try to keep your environmental awareness up if you're able to resist the spells effect, alright? Paying attention to the illusion is what an enemy wants."

"Yeah." She is impressed, and she can admit it while catching her breath, one hand dropping to her hip as she stretches, still processing what she just saw. That was– from the day before she arrived in Thedas through the rift. Months ago now, the image still so visceral in her mind.

She's nodding now as she shakes the last of it off, returning to her usual stance with the sword in her hand. What Allumin is saying makes sense. Abby had seen through the illusion at the end, almost to Allumin standing across from her in the training yard with his staff raised, but she didn't know magic could pull from her own experiences in that way. She doesn't like that he essentially just dipped into her head, and pulled something out to use against her. That doesn't feel good. That could be dangerous.

"Did you see it too?"

"No - only you can see it, if that's any comfort?"

He can imagine a certain anxiety in others knowing what your fears are, a concern that they're projected out there for all the world to see. Allumin wouldn't want people to see his, that's for sure.

Watching her return to a readied position, he takes some time to consider how he might be feeling were he in this situation. Trying to be more aware, more empathetic... Were he on the other side of this, how would he hope his training partner would approach this?

"Do you want to take a short break before trying again?" he asks after reflecting on it.

"It is. For you, anyway."

He's so lucky he didn't have to see that thing... Allumin really should find comfort in that. When Abby ran into it she was so scared she could barely fucking think, or breathe, she just had to get away, run as fast as she could in the opposite fucking direction. Hope against hope it wouldn't catch her up.

And then it did. She shivers in disgust, shifting her weight restlessly from side to side.

"Nah. Hit me." She's good for it. That, and she doesn't want to have any down-time if she has to look at the Rat King again before the day is out. Better to keep it fresh in her mind so it doesn't seem too horrifying... maybe... surely that's how it works?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

(OPEN) There's always more to you than there are of them

for ellis

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three... three deers

for glimmer

Re: for glimmer

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for margaery

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guard duty.

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cw body horror of the zombie variety

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