[RE] Strike up the band

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame Deimos gathered and ran, chucking as many kindling pieces as he could, far, far, far off into the distance, then racing back to perform the same rotation, a cycle, not daring to glance at the fire and see how much closer it had seethed and raged. The heat sizzled along his skin, a dutiful reminder of power, of stings, of wounds that could do far more than simply singe. He wouldn’t have stopped or ceased at all in his movements, except to avoid others in the mutual panic and planning, had a voice not pierced through the din, calling his name. It was laced in concern, which he found so utterly odd because he couldn’t remember a time anyone gave a damn about what happened to him – he’d always been the beast running headlong, heedlessly, recklessly, into the tremors of treachery and brutality without batting an eye, his duty, his occupation, a noble, stalwart march for a fiend, for an infidel, for a constant, brooding machine. Maybe no one had bothered because he’d frequently come across as capable (the King will take care of it), or they were just as indifferent about him; pathetic, sad, and forlorn, another piece of his detached, isolated pinnacle. So he was shocked and surprised, no matter their previous conversations, when Amalia ventured closer and closer, and he parted his mouth to shout back for her to stay away (not veering nearer to danger; where he stood, right on the edge of stupidity and bravery), turning, twisting back towards her with his arms full of another stack of twigs and moss “Amalia-“ was all he managed to choke out before a sudden implosion hit his chest. The collision ordinarily might not have knocked him off his feet at all – his figure was more than competent and proficient in withstanding a significant amount of force – but between the distractions, the fire, and his hands otherwise occupied, he had little chance of remaining upright. The beast landed on his back awkwardly, with a hiss, with a growl, leaving his lungs, eyes widening briefly, struggling to find the source of the impact, while his senses seared and burned from the incoming inferno. One of the sticks that had been in his grasp suddenly burst into flame; eclipsing the depths of his piercing eyes with the notion of apprehension – perhaps the first time it’d been initiated by fire. These weren’t his father’s flames, somewhat controlled and enlightened by a rogue, embellished boldness, a twinkle in his gaze; they harbored destruction and swallowed, consumed, intending to devour them whole. He shook his head, raising up on his arms just enough to regard the thing that had struck him, neither friend, foe, or ember, but a girl. “You all right?” His head tilted, uncertain of where she’d come from, giving her a chance to slip off of him before he rose – perhaps he should’ve been grateful for the entire exploit, because otherwise the wood might’ve burned and scaled up his flesh, licking it away in boiling anguish. “Thank you,” he extended to her, the little stranger, before rounding his head back to Amalia, who’d reached their sides fairly quickly, nodding his head, no worse for the wear. The worry in her gaze slid down his spine, and he felt ridiculous in that moment, causing unease and consternation when he should’ve been more tactful – his hands grazed over her fingers quickly, and then it didn’t really matter, because the wall of flames extended, rippling, courting and cavorting around them until it seethed and simmered in an unsung, unholy promise. Hurry it conveyed, like a sliding smirk, like an echoing snicker. I’ll take them all. He worked quickly, acted accordingly, while the fire was still small and smoking around them, broken cinders intending to catch and snag on each and every bite of nourishment. He kicked away a few more sticks closer to their feet, then simply heaved a few others, well over their current combustive site. The warrior didn’t have the time to relish and mire himself in his foolishness; the machinations and calculations were already honing in, bright and blistering, seething and smoldering despite the smoke, despite the heat. “Sorry,” he administered the briefest of apologies for the incoming motions towards the stranger, extending safety for safety, a regard for a regard, reaching down to grab hold of her waist, intending to launch her clear over the rim of the fire – out of harm’s way. It was abrupt, but he strived to make it as considerate and efficient as possible. His gaze swerved to Amalia, the lightest, ghost of a grin on his features (even in the darkest moments, a touch of mischief), before gathering her up in his arms too. There was no time to enjoy the measures, to even tease or taunt further, lifting her over the flames and then following in her stead, leaping, touching down upon earth. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace

The collision was anything but graceful, and the force of it sent the pair tumbling into the dry brush beneath them. Patton groaned, but her survival instinct spurred her to move. She had to move. As man beneath her began to stand, the young woman skittered off of him, quickly moving backwards and away from the stranger. Wide frightened eyes saw the man. He was massive and imposing and looked to be incredibly dangerous. And there was a woman next to him. Her eyes were filled with concern. But Patton didn't care, she had to get away. It was dangerous to be around strangers. More dangerous than being stuck in a forest fire.

Was she alright? Patton took a moment to look herself over. She was covered in soot and her fingers and hands were scorched, but not badly burnt. The brunt of her injury had come from passing through the path of the dragons icy blast. Her arms and back were covered in frost. There was no way she could shift and manage to fly out of here. Her wings were far too frostbitten. She'd had to run for it. But as she turned over, she was faced with a wall of flame. It had surrounded the trio.

How was she going to get away now? She couldn't fly out this! With a fearful gasp, she scooted back from the flames, only to feel strong hands grasp her waist. The woman was about to scream and fight, reaching back in an attempt to bite the man who was holding her. But she didn't get the chance as he reared back and threw her towards the flames. Patton screeched as she was sent through the air, flailing her arms as if to try and catch it, but this form was incapable of managing that. She landed hard on the other side of the fire, her terrified screech cut short as the air was jolted forcefully out of her lungs. The impact caused pain to race up her arms and she gasped. They were worse than she thought. She'd dealt with frostbite before, and she knew that black fingers were a bad sign, but she hoped her fingers were blackened by the smoke.

The young woman coughed and rolled onto her knees, wincing as she moved. She held her arms protectively under herself as the woman landed next to her, followed by the large man. Her eyes darted between them and then to the others who had gathered. So he had thrown her to safety instead of back into the fire. Not exactly what she expected, but she was glad she wasn't dead. But she'd never been around so many people and it made her incredibly uneasy. Patton looked back into the fire, trying to spot the giant beast that she had seen before, but it seemed to be gone. Perhaps engulfed by the flames? Curiosity would have to wait as she had to get out of here. The young woman slowly rose to her feet, backing away slowly as she kept her eyes on the people around her. She'd need to wait until they were all distracted by the fire for her to have a chance at escape.

By the time they had managed to gather the catastrophe was well underway, and not even Edy's vaunted prowess in playing with fire could contain the blaze entirely. In truth, Jigano had hoped that Ronin might have an idea for how those without magical talents might aid in stopping the inferno's threat, but before they could move to put an end to the source the giant flinthopper had taken off - up, up and away and out of easy reach. Looking worriedly around for someplace he might be of use, the bard saw the flames encircle Amalia, Deimos, and the stranger, and now that things were decidedly out of hand he moved swiftly towards them, wondering if he could use his cloak to smother the flames for a few seconds while they made their escape from the ring of danger.

Deimos was already moving, the big man thinking quickly and using his strength to his advantage to fling first the women and then himself to safety. Well. Relative safety. The woodlands were hardly 'safe' at the moment, with the fire threatening to burn down a large swathe of them. But Edy and Remi were making progress with the heart of the flames, so for the moment Jigano focused on the injured human elements: the girl who had been frostbitten and singed, and Amalia and Deimos as well. Those two could take care of themselves - and each other, he decided after a quick look over both of them. The unfamiliar young woman was a different story, and he nodded gratefully to Isla as the unicorn made her presence known.

"It's alright," he said soothingly, reaching a peaceful hand out to Patton while he stood beside Isla, resting a hand on her flank if she would allow it. "Isla is a medic. She can Heal injuries with her horn. Those burns and frostbite will risk infection if you don't get them taken care of." He kept an eye on the fire behind and around them while he spoke, juggling the need to tend to the stranger's wounds with the desire to keep the three of them from falling prey to the same trap that had nearly caught Amalia and Deimos.

A M A L I A

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Everything goes abruptly wrong, but there is a moment where Amalia does not care, because his her hand is in his and he is safe, still here, still hers, still unbroken and unburnt. Her lips curl up in a relieved smile; she squeezes back quickly, her insecurity forgotten as she traces him eagerly and finds him little hurt.

But there is not time to celebrate. The moment is swallowed by stinging smoke, choking into her mouth and nose, making her smile shift to a cough. Turning to the cowering child Amalia extends a hand, aching concern and no little guilt inspired by the panic on the girl's face, the way she shies back like a wild thing. "It's going to be okay." It would sound like a lie if she was not secure, confident Deimos will get them free- though she does not hesitate to add a prayer, instinctively reaching out for divine support. Please, Vi, Safrin, keep us with you today.

Then Deimos rises up behind them, his great hands wrapping around the girl's waist before flinging, sending her flying across the flames and to the safety of the other side. Blue eyes turn to hers, a little bit of mischief even now. "Wait-!" the baker begins to squawk, but before she can say more she is flung over, clinging to her bag of salves, landing gracelessly on her back with an exhaled oof! and a blink of surprise. Deimos lands beside her, and the baker offers a weak but vibrant grin, laughing slightly in relief and happiness. She extends her hand to brush against him, a reassurance that they are both okay; then Amalia rolls to her knees, wincing in the meanwhile, and looks to find the frostbitten girl being cared to by Jigano and Isla.

Coughing, the baker pushes closer, aware of the fire still at their back. "We should get her to the infirmary," she murmurs, "Or at least further from here. Flinthopper blazes spread quickly."

EDREI happy ending? sorry this isn't disney. 'Ugh, FIIIIINE." Edy drawled unhappily. She didn't see what the problem was; lots of species of trees needed fire to help with repopulation. Out with the old, in with the new and all that. But if everyone was going to get their panties in a fucking twist about it, she supposed she could do as Loren's old fuck-buddy asked. Raising her hands, Edy balled up the floating mass of fire, and then eventually set her will to douse the flames out of existence entirely. If that was successful, she'd begin to work on the smaller bursts and bobs of fire that still lingered about.

Mostly due to the efforts of the fire mage, the fire indeed is placated.

For how long? Who is to say. The Flinthopper has already made its way to a new area, a new thicket of dried kindling just waiting for the sweet song of flint and flesh.

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Congratulations! You've successfully put out the fire. Some are worse for wear and all will suffer a slightly sore throat due to the smoke.