[RE] for the many - Printable Version +- Court of the Fallen (https://cotf-rpg.com) +-- Forum: Out of Character (https://cotf-rpg.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=26) +--- Forum: Important (https://cotf-rpg.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=27) +---- Forum: Archives (https://cotf-rpg.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=38) +---- Thread: [RE] for the many (/showthread.php?tid=2033) Pages:
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RE: for the many - Ronin - 10-29-2019 However they had gotten inside, whatever had happened - the guild was gone and burnt, but they were all out safe. Distant hopes of being able to give Roana a proper send off for her boys faded now - still, at least she was cremated within the guild, and the monsters would not be able to use her corpse for foul play. He prayed, anyway. Giving a gruff nod to “I don’t think we suffered any casualties,” he advised the Queen, already following after Remi with his daughter. Aoife, for her part, all but clung to her father, starlit eyes wide with shock, her cheeks smudged with soot. But they were alive. Two LongNights here, but they were still alive. RE: for the many - Amun - 10-29-2019 Someone opened the fucking door and Amun stumbled in gratefully. He didn’t want to spend another second out there. Pleased that Fucking Caido. The Voice better be right about the rest of this world being better than the stupid Hollowed Grounds. RE: for the many - Wessex - 10-29-2019 As the first familiar face appears, Wessex allows herself to relax and drop the readiness to use Loren’s magic. It probably wouldn’t have done any good anyway, but what else was she going to do, physically fight the monsters? Cause that turned out so well for everyone else. Instead, she offers a hand to weary shoulders, a look of understanding and comfort to the soot-stained and throat-seared refugees from the Guildhall, counting the people as they come in and listening as people deliver their reports. Seeing Rex’s injuries first hand sends a vicious wave of anger through her at Sam’s thoughtlessness, but her sister is clearly in good hands. Lily, she thinks, of the redhead who apparently kept the Luxere close. Good thinking. Deimos reeks of smoke and ash and is clearly in no mood to talk, so Wessex does nothing to hold him back. Maybe later. Maybe after LongNight, before the portal, before their world will move blindly forward. Maybe not. Maybe they are too far gone and too close, too raw to pretend to speak casually of things any more. What does surprise the Queen is No casualties - the steel-backed Queen allows a small smile to Ronin as he passes with Aoife. It’s a small mercy.[say] “The Medical College is quiet, if you want to go there. Just make sure the door is closed tightly behind you.”[/say] And then they’re moving on, they’re all moving in and she finds She waits until everyone is in - however long it takes, whomever still stands patiently within the light of the luxere - then shuts the door tightly behind them all and locks it. Just a few more nights. They can surely get through a few more night, can't they? RE: for the many - Melita - 10-29-2019 She was useless. She was afraid. She hated it. The notions bristled against her hands and she fought against their shuddering notations, as if she were still blighted, as if she were still weak, hiding the vitriol carefully around Fangorn’s shield and protection. The youth traipsed her way into the Temple, eyes downcast, purposefully avoiding Wessex, because she can’t right now, not after everything, not after pestilence and disease, not after a refuge had been burnt down around them and she had nothing to give except fear. A quaking sigh flickered through her though, and she carefully, blending back into shadows, crawling along the darkness, picked her way along forms and figures, thankful they’d been let in, thankful there was still a time, a place, for them, wishing, wishing, wishing this could all come to an end soon. Then she visually retreated, an evading tactic picked up from the Rift’s confines, from when she didn’t want herself or her makeshift family taken, bludgeoned, and beaten, into the known expanse, familiar with its layout, with its threshold, aching for something recognized. |