Zavien
He's running.
He'd started at a brisk walk and somehow ended up running. But he doesn't stop.
He can feel it in his bones, can feel that something is wrong. He'd known the moment Lena hadn't been home, the moment he hadn't heard from her, the moment she'd been late for dinner. She's never late without sending word, not when they're both so busy, clutching at seconds like they're droplets of water in Hak Etme. Never, and it casts a shadow over his thoughts that grows darker by the second.
Then there's the strange report of birds flocking the Dragon's Nest. What had originally been laughed at and shrugged off by everyone now feels like an omen meant for him, a harbinger of something so dark and terrible that he doesn't let his mind linger on it - can't let his mind linger on it for fear he may stop moving. So he keeps running.
There's barely enough light to keep him on the path, the distant lanterns casting an eerie glow over every leaf and shadow, turning them menacing, threatening to snag at the small bit of composure held together by the hope that this will be an overreaction, that Lena will smile and tell him she'd just lost track of time. But even lost in her work, consideration and concern for others compels her to pause, to reassure and encourage through notes, missives, and Mittens. It isn't like her to go silent, and even with the Family gone, the paranoia and protective tendencies flare, a thousand reasons rising, flipping between lighthearted and catastrophic. And yet, amidst the joking images of Lena enthralled by a suckling cub or asleep beneath a tree, he doesn't stop running.
His heart is racing, beating against his ribs with a pleading desperation as he searches, skirting the familiar enclosures where she'd been working recently. The icy air slices through his lungs, snatching his breath with a vengeance only to taunt him with clouds of white victory. Zavien might have cared about the sharp needles pricking his fingers or the strain pressing against his eyes if he wasn't so consumed by the open gate, a pile of supplies sitting unused in the shadow of the post.
Pivoting to take in the vague shapes in the dark, he grabs the lantern by the post. "Lena! Le- " His voice cuts off when he catches sight of the slumped form just ahead, the gouges in the dirt around her, the black liquid that - no. No. The coppery tang registers in his mind, the blood glistening like oil soaking into the earth around her, only hinting at the original volume - and there's so much, too much.
He's running again.
He can't breathe, can't think as he's rushing forward, lantern discarded next to him as he's turning over her limp body to scan her features, looking for the familiar warmth of her eyes, the loving smile on her face, the adorable blush of her cheeks. His heart registers before his eyes do, seizing forcefully in his chest as he tries to make sense of the stiff limbs that should be pulling him close, the empty gaze of a face he should recognize, the mutilated gash of her throat splayed open in the lamplight, the aching silence that might as well be a scream for how it roars in his ears.
"No no no no no. Lena!" He swears the darkness deepens, swears he hears the sound of the earth cracking beneath him, carrying him deeper into a nightmare that vacations in hell. His fingers fumble for her neck, trying to staunch the dried blood like he might be able to put it back in, to seal the wound if his own heart bleeds enough. A pathetic glow from his ring is quickly consumed by the perpetual black of night, taking the last bit of hope when it doesn't even warm the cold skin beneath his fingers.
"Shit! No no no." His thoughts and actions are sluggish despite the years of battlefield training, signs of the war waging in him: between truth and denial. They tear at him, dragging his body lower until his shoulders hunch to shield her against the cold, to pull her closer and put together the pieces that have broken apart, even as he feels the jagged edges of his sanity slipping through his grasp.
"Ronin!" The name bursts forth, desperate and frayed at the edges, rough with the emotions beginning to take hold as reality wins out. "Ronin, please! Please help her!" He rocks back just enough to look frantically for the demigod, clutching to what little hope he guards in the pit of his stomach. Because it can't be real, but if it is, Ronin can fix this. He can fix this. He can bring her back. Because she can't be gone. This can't be the end. Lena can't be gone.
Zavien is channeling Ronin to saveLena!
Channeling (Accepted) : Allows an Accepted to channel a herald/demigod/spirit during a time of crisis (2x a season). Can be combined with other accepted channeling to increase power.
Type: Light | Rank: Upgraded | Cost: Action
He'd started at a brisk walk and somehow ended up running. But he doesn't stop.
He can feel it in his bones, can feel that something is wrong. He'd known the moment Lena hadn't been home, the moment he hadn't heard from her, the moment she'd been late for dinner. She's never late without sending word, not when they're both so busy, clutching at seconds like they're droplets of water in Hak Etme. Never, and it casts a shadow over his thoughts that grows darker by the second.
Then there's the strange report of birds flocking the Dragon's Nest. What had originally been laughed at and shrugged off by everyone now feels like an omen meant for him, a harbinger of something so dark and terrible that he doesn't let his mind linger on it - can't let his mind linger on it for fear he may stop moving. So he keeps running.
There's barely enough light to keep him on the path, the distant lanterns casting an eerie glow over every leaf and shadow, turning them menacing, threatening to snag at the small bit of composure held together by the hope that this will be an overreaction, that Lena will smile and tell him she'd just lost track of time. But even lost in her work, consideration and concern for others compels her to pause, to reassure and encourage through notes, missives, and Mittens. It isn't like her to go silent, and even with the Family gone, the paranoia and protective tendencies flare, a thousand reasons rising, flipping between lighthearted and catastrophic. And yet, amidst the joking images of Lena enthralled by a suckling cub or asleep beneath a tree, he doesn't stop running.
His heart is racing, beating against his ribs with a pleading desperation as he searches, skirting the familiar enclosures where she'd been working recently. The icy air slices through his lungs, snatching his breath with a vengeance only to taunt him with clouds of white victory. Zavien might have cared about the sharp needles pricking his fingers or the strain pressing against his eyes if he wasn't so consumed by the open gate, a pile of supplies sitting unused in the shadow of the post.
Pivoting to take in the vague shapes in the dark, he grabs the lantern by the post. "Lena! Le- " His voice cuts off when he catches sight of the slumped form just ahead, the gouges in the dirt around her, the black liquid that - no. No. The coppery tang registers in his mind, the blood glistening like oil soaking into the earth around her, only hinting at the original volume - and there's so much, too much.
He's running again.
He can't breathe, can't think as he's rushing forward, lantern discarded next to him as he's turning over her limp body to scan her features, looking for the familiar warmth of her eyes, the loving smile on her face, the adorable blush of her cheeks. His heart registers before his eyes do, seizing forcefully in his chest as he tries to make sense of the stiff limbs that should be pulling him close, the empty gaze of a face he should recognize, the mutilated gash of her throat splayed open in the lamplight, the aching silence that might as well be a scream for how it roars in his ears.
"No no no no no. Lena!" He swears the darkness deepens, swears he hears the sound of the earth cracking beneath him, carrying him deeper into a nightmare that vacations in hell. His fingers fumble for her neck, trying to staunch the dried blood like he might be able to put it back in, to seal the wound if his own heart bleeds enough. A pathetic glow from his ring is quickly consumed by the perpetual black of night, taking the last bit of hope when it doesn't even warm the cold skin beneath his fingers.
"Shit! No no no." His thoughts and actions are sluggish despite the years of battlefield training, signs of the war waging in him: between truth and denial. They tear at him, dragging his body lower until his shoulders hunch to shield her against the cold, to pull her closer and put together the pieces that have broken apart, even as he feels the jagged edges of his sanity slipping through his grasp.
"Ronin!" The name bursts forth, desperate and frayed at the edges, rough with the emotions beginning to take hold as reality wins out. "Ronin, please! Please help her!" He rocks back just enough to look frantically for the demigod, clutching to what little hope he guards in the pit of his stomach. Because it can't be real, but if it is, Ronin can fix this. He can fix this. He can bring her back. Because she can't be gone. This can't be the end. Lena can't be gone.
Zavien is channeling Ronin to save
Channeling (Accepted) : Allows an Accepted to channel a herald/demigod/spirit during a time of crisis (2x a season). Can be combined with other accepted channeling to increase power.
Type: Light | Rank: Upgraded | Cost: Action
I'd rather have a broken arm than a broken heart.
