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+---- Thread: [SWE] The Festival of Fiat Lux! (/showthread.php?tid=2272)
RE: The Festival of Fiat Lux! - Jigano - 12-30-2019
Awareness, light, motion--
Screams.
Jigano sat up with a gasp as Loren took off, Healing magic bringing sudden clarity in place of woozy disorientation.
The mud monster approaching, the wall of ice protecting, the shattering crash of breaking crystal and an attempt to defend himself and Tarasha--
And now this. This scene of panic and death, blood and pain.
The explosion of starlight back at the Settlement.
He drew in a steadying breath, then looked to Oliver fiercely. "Help the wounded. Listen to Rexanna. You're going to be alright," he tried to offer the recently-Attuned young man before he pulled himself to his feet, shaking his head to clear the lingering ringing from his ears. He could stand. He could walk. And if he could walk, he could run.
The bard took off towards the Sanctuary, grim despair in his eyes as he went to confront one more catastrophe.
RE: The Festival of Fiat Lux! - Amalia - 12-30-2019
At once, life surrounds her--
--but Remi isn't breathing.
The roar of the crisis fills her ears like water, flooding, flooding, flooding her brain, trickling through her thoughts. There is a stranger, falling beside her, torn apart by shards of ice. There is Wessex, her hands on Remi, pushing as though to force the life back into him (why?). There is another scream of anguish, and she doesn't know if it comes from her or from someone else. There is Evie, her hair as red as blood (is it blood?), pushing in and looking at her and she's saying something, something, and Amalia knows she has to do something---
Shakily the girl rises, gently and reluctantly releasing Remi's head. [say]"Put them on me,"[/say] she whispers, black eyes never leaving the face of her friend. [say]"I'll carry them to... to the infirmary. Both of them. They shouldn't... they shouldn't be separated."[/say] With a last, firm look at those around her, Amalia shifts back to qilin form, waiting for the precious cargo to be placed upon her back.
RE: The Festival of Fiat Lux! - Loren - 12-30-2019
At Phoebe’s call, Loren glanced up. [say]”Understood!”[/say] As Jigano took off, the summoner glanced off in the distance, eyes widening at the burst of starlight. Very few things could have caused that, and this new crises caused the tears that had threatened for a while to finally fall.
He didn't have time for them. Angrily scrubbing them away, he took a deep breath, and sought the cool release of his training and the dark place where he stuffed all dark emotions when he couldn’t deal with them in the moment. He’d used it so often for ill, but perhaps it could do some good today.
Then he glanced at Remi. The Launceleyn’s heart sank at the sight that greeted him now that the press of bodies had cleared a bit: Remi, healed enough to keep him alive, but not enough to live. And apparently about to be loaded on to Amalia’s back. [say]"
The summoner skidded to a halt. [say]”All the healers are going to come here, and he’s not fit to travel.”[/say] With that he reached into the depths of his rapidly draining magic. He knew he was doing too much, that he needed to prioritize, but after what he’d…what had happened…he needed to do this. A unicorn appeared at his side and placed its horn on the alchemist’s shoulder, while the Launceleyn laid his hand on the other.
Then they both poured their healing magics into the other man. [say]”Remi. You need to live. For Ronin.”[/say] After that, Loren was too deep in his magic for more words.
RE: The Festival of Fiat Lux! - Remi - 12-30-2019
Breathe...
..live, for Ronin of all people. But of all of them, Ronin was the only one who would understand, because he'd gone after Vanya, hadn't he? He hadn't begged or pleaded. He hadn't fought to remain alive.
He knew he didn't deserve it, and nor did Remi.
Not that his body cared.
Breathing, but only barely, the ill-suited muscular body wrapped around the once sun-golden soul of the alchemist took a breath. It was shallow and unwanted and somewhere inside Remi's death-dreams the world spun and he had to fight to hear the sound of Ronin's singing. Even Aoife's bell-like laughed seemed murky. But he ignored it and held on, because before he promised Ronin to be his forever, he'd made another promise.
One to keep Aoife safe and never leave her. Now with one broken, he'd be damned to break the other.
RE: The Festival of Fiat Lux! - Melita - 12-30-2019
Her face was a snarl, a force of vitriol, fortitude, might, and ferocity that likely kept her going for her entire life – long, billowing breaths stretching through her lungs, in and out, in and out, as she maneuvered and crawled, as she slid along the ground in serpentine maneuvers and tried not to get trampled. More than once she thought about curling into a ball to avoid rampaging feet, but then her shoulder protested the movement, and she resumed her slow, plodding pace, dragging everything behind her. There were some screams and shouts all around her, and she gave them no thought, no voice, no poise, mind completely occupied by survival. Then Wessex was upon her, and the girl might’ve softened, hard to tell, covered in muck, mud, and exhausted, agonizing bouts, yearning to hide her face in the dirt until everything passed her by. Someone’s incantations (familiar, perhaps it was Loren?) floated into her and she remained perfectly still, incapable of saying anything, feeling a multitude of the pain lessen, a sealing of bones, and Phoebe alongside, setting the rest.
Gods, she felt weak and helpless and stupid. [say]"Thank you,"[/say] was a hushed reverberation, her mouth to the soil, her sides heaving, a rise and fall of breath.
Could she stand? She didn’t know, striving to lift herself up, waiting for her shoulder to protest, and the earth, the sky, seemed to be revolving around her very, very quickly. [say]“Where do I need to go?”[/say] She uttered to no one in particular, attention and mind hazy, unfocused, Fangorn’s growls the only thing she could surmise.
RE: The Festival of Fiat Lux! - Sunjata - 12-30-2019
Finally, finally he stops moving. And gods he’s fucking tired, weary, drained, and he can’t help it when he starts to shift back into himself — the only parts remaining partially shifted are his fingers, tinged and edged in the black of the panther form. He feels like he’s being swallowed up, reminiscent of when they taught him to swim and his leg got trapped beneath the piece of driftwood, pulling him under and under. He has a thought to just let it crush him, that the efforts he’s made are virtually useless, that the drowning and suffocation can’t come fast enough.
Except then it’s gone.
Loren’s magic reveals him from the mud, cleaning most of the mud off and leaving him drenched, but he can breathe. And Haai, realizing this, dives straight down into his chest as he gasps for breath, collapsing to his knees, hands in the mud as he gasps and swallows down what air he can. His bones groan and hurt, throb within him, but he’s alive.
He can’t say the same for everyone else, weary steel eyes look around at the carnage and they had been too late. Too late. Not enough. His jaw clenches, blood running down from his temple and a few cuts along his jaw. Loren is there, a hand to his shoulder, filling him with the warmth of healing that lull the soreness of his bones, the bruises, cuts, scars. His shirt is torn, but he’s in one piece. And before he can thank the Launceleyn, the man is off.
But he’s still trying to get his bearings, still trying to pull himself together when he hears Hotaru’s shriek first Deimos, Phoebe’s own sob behind, Rexanna and Loren’s voices barking orders. It feels like war, and he has no time to stay still. So he rises, slowly, unsteadily, clawed hands clenching as he finally gets the air he needs into his lungs.
And it’s a mess. “[say]Go help search.[/say]” He hoarsely says to Haai, the griffin going to help and search the debris and mud for survivors. There’s enough that are helping the wounded, even as his gaze spots Melita surrounded by others, and he’s off immediately, moving past Phoebe and Loren, dropping to his knees around the fiery girl. “[say]Mel, ek het nodig dat jy loop.[/say]” He tells her, voice cracking on her name as he places hands beneath her knees and torso to try and get her up, though he can carry her if she’s still too weak.
Mel, ek het nodig dat jy loop. — Mel, I need you to stand.
RE: The Festival of Fiat Lux! - Kiada - 12-30-2019
Almost as if in an instant, Hotaru is there. And Kiada writhes and writhes, the bone sticking out of her leg as the searing pain continues and burns, tears well and fall from her eyes as she gasps, only pausing when Hotaru’s curtain of blonde hair and body blocks further onslaught. She does as instructed, deep breaths, calming and quelling the pain she feels, the panic at being unable to walk, unable to move.
But Deimos is there soon too, his rumble calming her enough too, until his hands are placed beneath her and she cries out in the pain of her leg that sparks lightning up the rest of her. The cries remain, hands gripping the dirt as Zuriel pieces her fracture back into place and once it’s done, once the skin is knit over itself and healed, only then does she finally calm.
[say]Thank you… Go, I’ll be okay.[/say] It’s a breathless message, sent as she sits up finally to stand, heart thundering in her chest as she tries to get her bearings. Others needed him more than she did now. And while she still had scrapes and bruises, at least her leg was back in place.
RE: The Festival of Fiat Lux! - Deimos - 12-30-2019
Deimos swallowed down the bile coating the back of his throat, down, down, down into the sanctions of his soul that held all the other memories bounding through his chest and ribs; no time to succumb, no time to process. His jaw clenched and he had no words, nothing else left, except inherent movements and motions, placing her down when and where she could stand, nodding to Hotaru, to keep the Harpy safe while Loren’s commands barked over the attuned connections, while the world rampaged and burned and seethed beneath their haughty overtures. They thought they’d be safe. They thought a festival would be fine. They’d planned and plotted and schemed for entertainment – and somehow thought they’d be able to savor it. The Sword ignored the twitch in his hands, the shudder of his irritation, exasperation, or the pain in his wounds, before moving on – not daring to look back because he couldn’t stand it anymore.
The old, familiar chant sprung up along his machinations. Not enough, not enough. Still, they threaded through people and stampedes, Zuriel at his side and trying to say something to him, but he was an onslaught, a savage swing to his pace and steps, threading their way across the field, adhering to Loren’s demands as the unicorn sought out anyone else requiring her aid. His gaze swung over individuals and almost didn’t see anything at all; naught registering in the haze, until they segmented upon Amalia, upon Remi, upon the efforts of so many bolstered around fallen alchemists, and – a child. Still and prone in Rexanna’s arms.
His hands glowed as he created and contorted, quickly, efficiently, still disregarding the torment in his own limbs, blood trickling down his palms as he worked, as stretchers appeared before him – wooden arms supplied, or wheels on the bottom, intending to be used for anyone needing to be taken out quickly. Moving towards Amalia, who appeared to be attempting to take Remi elsewhere, he handed one of them over, intending to provide support and assistance in getting or lifting the battered man on. Then his eyes swung back to hers, a [say]be careful[/say] adorning through their connection, before he had to hasten off to find others; and it hurt. Everything hurt.
--
[say]Zuriel is around the healers for anyone who requires more aid! Deimos has created some stretchers to help get the injured out![/say]
RE: The Festival of Fiat Lux! - Rexanna - 12-30-2019
She cradles the poor lifeless child, spotting Ronin in the corner of her eye if only briefly. She wants to go after him, wants to help, but she’s better suited here, where Aoife can remain with Remi and —
— Loren briefly giving the order of searching for survivors, organizing such, but in the chaos there’s little organization that can be done. All they can do right now is move the bodies, get them out of the way of the carnage and rampage, and comb and comb and comb.
Amalia’s suggestion is granted a quick nod, crafting yet another blanket of sorts to make a cradle, a sling for the child, and she wraps Aoife up carefully, before passing her onto Amalia, ensuring the girl is secured. She clenches her teeth then, gaze looking out over the crowds once more. “[say]Keep going! Pull out anyone you can find, make room to search![/say]” She calls out, voice echoing hidden along the cracks of the cries and screams and anguish.
“[say]Remi, let them help you.[/say]” A quiet plea. Let us help you like you helped me, when I was impaled, when I was dying, when you risked everything to ensure I’d get back. With Deimos there, they don’t need her help to lift him. She can be useful elsewhere.
And then she’s off, sure they’ll call for her should they need her, and she goes into the thick of it all, to help pull bodies, to use her infrared gaze to seek out anything with life and warmth beneath the rubble, instructing those nearby to dig and pull as she goes from place to place.
RE: The Festival of Fiat Lux! - Lily - 12-30-2019
It was stupid, really. She should have just run, shifted, she might have outrun the mud then. But her instruments were her life and they slowed her down. In the end they were more hindrance than help as the singer scrambles from the platform, running with the rest of the crowd. Her beloved lap harp got caught on something and it wrenched her back hard enough to dislocate her shoulder before the mud even reaches her.
The pain makes her scream, a sound which is lost amidst the sounds of the melee and she becomes just another terrified, hurting woman in the crowd.
Then the mud hits and it knocks the breath from her, tears her useless arm from the harp and sends her with the rush. Maybe it's irony, or maybe it's sheer luck that the cord of the microphone wraps itself around a tree trunk and keeps her other arm holding on to that for dear life. But when it all settles, she's still breathing, still alive, but mostly immobilized - one arm useless, another wrapped too tightly against the tree that's beginning to settle and sink. Her legs have already disappeared from view, the pressure against them growing ever greater.
[Say] "Help! Please!"[/say] she struggles to get out, her voice high and pleading.[say] "Someone… please…!"[/say]
RE: The Festival of Fiat Lux! - Oliver - 12-30-2019
Staring down at the white haired man, Oliver started to shake more. He needed Jigano. They needed Jigano. He would be able to help them figure out what to do next. His calls for help seemingly went no where, simply echoing into the distance, until he saw a wonderful face. The mud monster had seemingly been vanquished as Loren bad appeared. [say]”Thank the gods,”[/say] Loren was gone before Oliver could talk, but it was fine. He knew that Loren had healed Jigano even before the white haired man’s eyes fluttered open.
Staring down, a faint smile traced his lips. A gasp left the moment he felt the other man’s healing touch, his body slowly relaxing. [say]”Stay safe, Jigano. Please.”[/say] Now that he was healed he could begin to help others. But where the hell could he even start? Standing back up, he looked around at the carnage, overwhelmed by everything. He started to make his way around, looking for those who were in need of medical attention but couldn’t get up. There were too many bodies to count.
One person he knelt down next to and checked for a pulse only to receive nothing. He was ready to follow orders, to carry the body away...but then he heard the faintest call. Lifting his head up he found himself slowly being able to heal better. What he didn’t realize was that his ears were slowly transforming into that of a fennec fox. Following after the voice, he’d find a familiar red head. Lily...
Thank the gods he still had a blade on him. Reaching into his boot, he pulled out a knife and stepped forward, working to cut away the cord that tied her to the tree. [say]”Hold onto me. Once you’re untied we are going to work towards getting you out of there”[/say] With one hand he sawed, but with the other he tried to grasp for just under her injured shoulder, hoping to make her feel more stable.
[say]”The moment you are free, grab me.”[/say]
RE: The Festival of Fiat Lux! - Evie - 12-30-2019
What little extra healing she provided is enough to get Remi up, though he is like deadweight in her hands. With the help of those around her they get him upon Amalia's back, and Evie doesn't wait for a decision regarding who will transport Aoife. No matter how it breaks her heart, there is no time or energy to waste on those already in Mort's arms.
With a lingering touch to Amalia's neck, a silent message of strength, Evie turns and begins to jog across the field once more. So many are wounded, but even more are helping, and that is the hope and goodwill that she clings to. Sharp blue eyes scan the wreckage, landing upon
RE: The Festival of Fiat Lux! - Loren - 12-30-2019
Loren was still wrapped in the midst of his magic, his spell, his healing. But when Remi took a breath, finally, too late, thankfully, the summoner breathed as well. There was still damage, though, the alchemist's body not fully repaired, and so the Launceleyn plunged back in. But not before whispering, so softly he wasn't sure the other man heard it, could hear it, would hear it. [say]"Good. Come back. Don't leave like I did."[/say] Loren said the words in his mind, too, uncaring which of the Attuned in the area might hear it.
They were trying to take Remi away, still, and he still wasn't ready. So the summoner cast his magic back into the alchemist's broken and battered form, and had the summoned unicorn do the same. Another round of the Launceleyn's blue healing light coursed through the the other man's body, knitting together flesh.
But it couldn't heal his broken heart.
Loren and his summoned unicorn do another round of healing on Remi.
RE: The Festival of Fiat Lux! - Melita - 12-31-2019
A familiar language rumbled in her ears, and she glanced up, and up, and up, spotting Sunjata, his face a bit blurred, her eyes unfocused, brain struggling to decipher a few of the words. There was a ring of goofy laughter in her lungs, likely from some numbed accord in her mind, gilded eyes then glancing over elsewhere, at the scene, at the carnage, at the rubble and ruin around them. Perhaps this snapped something back into her soul, a fire, ignition, and kindling, attempting to wave his hands away as she buckled down, as she bent forward and back onto her own limbs. [say]“I’m okay.”[/say] Sort of, a little unsteady, a little wobbly, Fangorn hissing and grumbling around her ankles, another thank you murmured and whispered to everyone around – not wishing to cause any more of a scene. Her venture forward was a trifle pathetic, but it was movement, and lacking the paralyzing pain. She had an allotment of inquiries and questions for him (had that been him by, in, the mud monster?), but they all seemed to simmer away at this juncture, ghosts and screams hovering and harpooning too quickly, too closely. [say]“Should we go find more people?”[/say] Not that she’d be much help, but perhaps Fangorn could seek and search and she could do something other than be another casualty.