when the stars go out
Amalia Chandrakant
the Shield of Safrin
Baker
Portal Guardian
Age: 22 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural
Level: 11 - Strg: 31 - Dext: 30 - Endr: 30 - Luck: 31
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
Played by: charks Offline
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#1
until i'm ready, let me be
Everything hurts.

She is aware, vaguely, of being struck by the stones. She is aware of her body as it shifts back to human form, aware of the ground as she falls against it, aware of the screaming agony in her arms, her head, her upper back. She is aware of being on her back, staring at the sky.

She is aware of Jyoti's panic and horror, the little starwhale frantically swimming circles around her face. She can feel stardust on her face, burning ice that sizzles on her skin, almost enough to calm her nerves but not quite breaking through the surface, through the agony of her pain. "J...yo," she croaks between blood-soaked lips, trying to reach up before a scream of protest keeps her shattered arms where they are.

She is aware of the taste of iron, that she is coughing up blood, that it may well drown her if she doesn't roll over. She is aware that there is no way she can roll over on her own. She is aware that she may die here.

She is aware of far more than she expected to be, or really wants to be right now.

The only thing she is not aware of is the huge fucking rock that still sits on her legs.

It will be a very long time before she is aware of anything below her waist again.
i have to heal myself
AmaLiA
Jigano Silversmith
the Sage
Provost of the Loreseekers Soul Shepherd / Outlander Advisor
Portal Guardian
Age: 29 | Height: 6'2" | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 10 - Strg: 30 - Dext: 32 - Endr: 37 - Luck: 35
ISUMA - Mythical - Gryphon (venomous)
Played by: Cirago Offline
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#2
He had stayed behind as long as he could, thinking Amalia was behind him, feeling her in his thoughts and through the Attuned bond. He turned as soon as he made it through the window, white wings flapping as he waited for her to emerge on his tailfeathers, but as she followed the world collapsed around him and he could barely dodge the debris that rained down, striking them both, tearing feathers from his wings and battering his small raven body.

He had fallen, and when the dust had cleared he saw Amalia beside him, frighteningly human and trapped beneath the rock and he gasped, choking on dust. "Amalia! Help!" he tried to yell, coughing instead as feathers fell away to skin and he crawled to her side, kneeling at her head and pressing his hands to her shoulders, pushing his Healing power into her as he stared at the rock and furiously tried to break it apart with his magic - to no avail.
Amun Arlun
Potter

Age: 34 | Height: 5'7'' | Race: Ascended | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 5 - Strg: 16 - Dext: 16 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 23
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#3
my whole life is mine, but whoever says so will deprive me,
for it is infinite.
Amun saw the building collapse. Heard Jigano's cry. Saw Amalia, battered form half-buried under the rocks. Saw her staff, the one she’d used to heal them, lying with the Ascended. So, nearly catatonic as the potter still was, he grabbed for it. First he healed his own wounds, though it couldn’t do anything for his mangled hand and his damaged hip. Then, gritting his teeth, he levered himself to his feet, using it as a walking stick.

Limping over, he managed to make it to her without collapsing, though he needed to sit on a convenient piece of rubble. Then he rested the end of the staff on her shoulder as gently as he could manage with the bard in the way, healing her as well, though Amun didn't know how any of this magic stuff worked."Hang in there, kitty." Holding the staff in the crook of his arm, he tried to reach up for the frantic Jyoti, hoping to calm both the starwhale and the baker.
by being moved I exert my empire,
making the dreams of night real
AMUN
Wessex Theskyra
the Wraith
Explorer

Age: 40 | Height: 5'8'' | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Natural
Level: 3 - Strg: 29 - Dext: 30 - Endr: 29 - Luck: 30
LOKI - Mythical - Dragon (Energy Blast)
Played by: Astor Offline
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#4
WESSEX
the wraith
Sometimes you hear of the hysterical strength, the thing that happens to mothers when their children are in danger. This is not it, for Wessex is rarely hysterical, and the child she helped raise is now half-stranger, half-against her, and well - no longer a child. But there is something that rises in her, that gives the Wraith a kind of desperate energy, something that fuels her and presses her to disregard the damage done to her body. She recognizes it as something that comes along during a fight and keeps her going because she must- you can call it whatever you wish.

“AMALIAAAAA!” Wessex continues to yell at the collapsing building, as it becomes apparent that Jyoti is there, but the white bird is not. Pushing herself to two legs, Wessex stumble-runs to the rubble, Amalia’s scream of pain reaching her ears. She is a woman with a singular purpose now: move the rocks, get Ama out, hold her, find a healer.

Just the way she did at the Spire, she moves rocks by hand, straining, abandoning everything to tunnel vision. “Jyoti! Jyoti, keep her there, oh Lady -”

There’s fluid leaking from her eyes, shiny little streaks that run clean lines through the dust that’s settling on her face. “Ama, stay with me, ok? Don’t move, we’re coming.” Or she is, at least. Everyone else be damned. Everyone else can get healers and Deimos and whatever the fuck you're supposed to do, but Wessex was going to be right here.
she's pullin' the trigger
cause it's me and the moon, she says
and i have no trouble with that
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Militia General of the Hollowed Grounds / Guildmaster

Age: 26 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 8 - Strg: 28 - Dext: 28 - Endr: 33 - Luck: 27
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
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#5
DEIMOS
There were sounds of riotous blasts, ricochets, torn ethers, vestiges, demolished movements – and for a few seconds, he thought nothing of it, an addition to the calamity within their wake, unbidden terrors, unrelenting onslaughts, no time for sanctuaries, no time, no time, no time for anything but solid movements and motions, inherent things, no requirements of thoughts or feelings. Those could come later.

Those could come now.

The sense of dread and foreboding, that the world wasn’t done consuming them just yet, hovered and harpooned over the edges of his mind, and he glanced up to watch the world spiral in the distance again – directions he’d known she’d gone, for what seemed only moments before. An age-old sensation of primordial panic shifted in his chest, in his lungs, in his soul, and a shaking, trembling breath bordered on the hinges of his chest. Zuriel, he called, and the unicorn was instantly there, nothing needing to be said, nothing needing to be added, the blood sticking to his skin, the pandemonium crippling down in the wake of anything else. For a moment, he was numb, a maneuvering Colossus, over fields, over grasses laden with blood and bone, swallowing down the length of bile tracing its way over his throat. Together they ran, and he didn’t give a single sentiment to the pain still rolling in his hip, in his shoulder, in the time and wake of scattered semblances, the consternation stinging far more, the unknown beckoning and twisting.

Maybe she was fine.

Maybe she wasn’t.

And it rampaged back and forth until he neared, until there were forms on the ground, until familiarity and love and affection somehow managed to stab him straight in the chest.

Not again. He couldn’t do this again. You cannot have her he might have screamed and bellowed at the walls, at death’s door, at decrepit, ancient gods whom he’d fight with every breath left in his body. You cannot have her repeated and reverberated, an anthem stuck to his fervency, to his irreverent soul. It was all he had.

The gilded hair, darkened by ash, by soot, by rubble, gave it all away, and he had half an inclination to shatter right there on the earth beside her, let his cinders and bones rot, let his soul dissipate. Closer and closer, legs moving, maneuvering, while his mind flickered and tore itself apart, Jigano's and Wessex's presences, words mattering so very little, when all he could see was her. Amalia, he proffered, and it sounded so weak, so pathetic, so haphazardly drawn, tired, exhausted and done in, expecting no response – gaze fettering over her broken form, realizing she was breathing, she was alive, before tears started to well and collect and there were no dams to shore them up. He fell to his knees, hands wanting to reach out, to hold, to assure her and himself and somewhere in the midst everything was falling down around him.

He settled for the rock instead, incapable of healing, incapable of proffering anything else but some endless despair and just letting her know he was there (was that even enough?); hands gently, gingerly, lifting at the stone, trying to remove it from her legs.

Zuriel was instantly beside her too, kneeling, crouching, while stars flew above their heads and she strived to soothe, to mend, to assuage the aches, the pains, the fissured, splintered fragments.
i'm in the mood to dissolve in the sky
Amalia Chandrakant
the Shield of Safrin
Baker
Portal Guardian
Age: 22 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural
Level: 11 - Strg: 31 - Dext: 30 - Endr: 30 - Luck: 31
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
Played by: charks Offline
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Posts: 1,745
MP:
#6
until i'm ready, let me be
Magic, her mother used to say, Is smart.

It is strange that this is what Amalia thinks of as she lies upon the ground, blood pooling in her mouth, her arms both shattered, no sensation left in her lower limbs. There are faces above her, winking in and out like so many stars, and frantic voices, but the only one she sees and hears with any particular clarity is the one that isn't there...

'Magic is smart, Lia,' her mother said firmly as she placed her hands on the broken leg, letting a pulse of her power seep into the girl's skin. 'It knows the most important things to fix. And those things aren't the ones that will leave scars.' Amalia watched as the leg knit itself together, the image of bone retreating back into skin causing her stomach to churn.

Magic is smart. Amalia can feel her organs mending themselves beneath Jigano's power, the punctured lung knitting itself closed, the blood beginning to recede from her throat. She can feel the faschia buck and stretch in ways it should not as the rocks are lifted off of it, preventing fatal compartment syndrome from causing blood to pool within. She can feel the bones in her arms attempt to reassemble themselves into something limb-shaped, though that is a slower process, and one she knows inherently will take time.

She still can't feel her lower limbs, but maybe that's just as well.

Magic is smart, but it's not omnipotent. It knows what's most important to repair - the life-threatening bleed, the fatal blow, the shattered bones that will kill the muscle if their vasculature is not replaced. But even magic has its limits. It cannot fix everything, not at once. It cannot cause cells that are not meant to regenerate to spring into life at a moment's request.

Magic gives Amalia stability, but it does not mend her spine. So as the girl regains what little consciousness she is currently capable of, her eyelashes fluttering, her dark eyes trying to focus on the faces around her, the rattling sound of air fighting her lungs fading into normal breaths, her legs continue to lie still. Attempting to rise onto bent elbows - and immediately falling back, because it will be some time before those bones don't hurt - the Shield winces and cries out softly, light-headed in her pain. She can see the face of her mother above her, except it isn't her mother, it's someone else- someone who reminds her of Rishima so acutely it almost hurts more than the ache of her bones.

"Wessex?" Amalia croaks out hoarsely, raising a shaky arm toward the Wraith. "The others... Ronin... did they get out? Are they okay?"
i have to heal myself
AmaLiA
Jigano Silversmith
the Sage
Provost of the Loreseekers Soul Shepherd / Outlander Advisor
Portal Guardian
Age: 29 | Height: 6'2" | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 10 - Strg: 30 - Dext: 32 - Endr: 37 - Luck: 35
ISUMA - Mythical - Gryphon (venomous)
Played by: Cirago Offline
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Posts: 3,194
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#7
He gave her everything he had left after trying to hold the Temple up beneath the time Safrin had bought them. He pushed power through his hands, offering the music of his soul if it would bring Amalia back from the edge a second time, the scene flashing with darkness and fire from a LongNight past. He saw the staff poke past him, but had no energy to turn and see who wielded it. There was only Amalia beneath his hands, only the magic that sang as it wove them together, finding damaged organs and broken bones.

It wasn't perfect. A god might have healed Amalia in one miraculous breath, but Jigano was only a mage, and his magic had limits, as all mortal things must. He could not fix everything... but he could keep her alive, keep her among them, until Deimos and Zuriel arrived and the unicorn added her strength to his, and Deimos moved the rock that Jigano's magic could not.

"Amalia, Ama, stay with us," he murmured, half beneath his breath, litany and prayer, mantra and pleading as he worked, but it wasn't his name she called, when enough strength returned to her for consciousness to reassert itself.

It wasn't Deimos's either, nor Rory's.

It was Wessex she called for, and the pain of that burned in his throat, silencing whatever else he might have said. It was Wessex she asked her questions of, and in the love and respect he had for her he stayed silent to let the Wraith answer, focusing only on the magic and the Healing, putting right what he could until either his power ran dry or there was nothing more it could do.
Amun Arlun
Potter

Age: 34 | Height: 5'7'' | Race: Ascended | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 5 - Strg: 16 - Dext: 16 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 23
Played by: Crooked Offline
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#8
my whole life is mine, but whoever says so will deprive me,
for it is infinite.
Amun healed as well, keeping the staff touching Amalia’s shoulder, watching closely as the baker’s body put itself back together. Then Deimos was there, along with a unicorn, and the General lifted the rock while the unicorn healed Amalia as well. The potter didn’t move from his spot, too weary and battered to let others who were closer to their injured friend close.

When Amalia finally spoke again, she asked for Wessex. Amun’s eyes flicked to the Wraith, but he stayed quiet. Instead, he just sat, and let the staff's magic continue flowing into the baker. She needs to rest, Princess. It was probably an unnecessary warning, but the potter wasn't thinking as clearly as he normally did.
by being moved I exert my empire,
making the dreams of night real
AMUN
Wessex Theskyra
the Wraith
Explorer

Age: 40 | Height: 5'8'' | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Natural
Level: 3 - Strg: 29 - Dext: 30 - Endr: 29 - Luck: 30
LOKI - Mythical - Dragon (Energy Blast)
Played by: Astor Offline
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Posts: 1,002
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#9
WESSEX
the wraith
Between her and Deimos, they manage to remove the rocks, unaware of the extensive damage that’s already been done. Wessex can’t look at the big man, can’t bear to meet his gaze and be asked what happened here, because it could have gone so much better, it could have, and it didn’t. The would-be saviors were of two-factions who didn’t know how to work together, couldn’t communicate, and likely didn’t know about Ronin’s star-power (Wessex sure as hell didn’t). They were intent on pursuing their own courses of action and the result was this: one disappeared man, one broken girl, two crushed appendages, and more obliteration in a few hours than their sleepy little bubble had ever seen.  

It’s a day that will likely go down in infamy, a day of biblical events: a (mud) flood, the destruction of the temple, and the deaths of too many firstborn children. A day of Goddesses. A day of miraculous magic. A day they’ll spend years recovering from.

There’s a movement from the prone girl and Wessex zeroes in on it - a flutter of lashes, and she tries to keep Amalia horizontal, hand shoved beneath her head as she falls again, placing it gently on the ground, or rubble, or whatever she’s laying on. Her other hand takes Amalia’s as they reach up to her, reaching for Jigano’s magic and copying with her own basic, simple efforts. They glow a little, but it may be the only indication that she’s concentrating on the healing. “Shhhhhhh,” she soothes, wiping strands of dust-covered hair away from her eyes. “Everyone’s fine,” she says without a second thought. “Everyone’s ok,” except for you.

Glancing at her lover (none of them know about the engagement), Wessex nods at him, assuming she can’t see the General. “Deimos is here.” She shifts a little so he can come into her line of sight and then looks back down at Ama, recreating the days when the girl would come to her with a child’s boo-boo or some other injury, wanting comfort and reassurance. The world is not going to end today - it didn’t then, and it won’t now. “We need you to tell us if anything feels... wrong. Or suddenly feels a lot worse. Ok?”

That rock - need to make sure she's ok on the inside before we move her anywhere to rest. But yes, she agrees. They need to get out of here and to someplace more conducive to healing.
she's pullin' the trigger
cause it's me and the moon, she says
and i have no trouble with that
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Militia General of the Hollowed Grounds / Guildmaster

Age: 26 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 8 - Strg: 28 - Dext: 28 - Endr: 33 - Luck: 27
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
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#10
DEIMOS
He refused to fall apart, not here, not now. But the notion bit and tore at him, as muscles burned and maneuvered rocks, as concentration pooled into the abyss, as more and more clarity rippled through unmoving legs and shattered souls. How many times had he seen it for himself – out there on the battlefields, as he dragged comrades out of harm’s way, their limbs incapable of movement, portions severed, no matter, no matter, no matter – and his heart plunged somewhere in the midst. He couldn’t look at anyone. He couldn’t bear it. He couldn’t hear it. Everything was a numbing, embittered, rancorous, unrelenting haze, and he blocked them all, not certain how his features were rendered, not caring if they chiseled despair, if they sculpted anguish, if desperation stung and nettled and thorned, willing to trade positions, willing to wish and pray and mend things away that he had no control over. Deimos was hollow and empty in some of those moments, a vessel of soullessness, digging deep into the vicious trenches walling up over him, threatening to choke, threatening to strangle, threatening to noose and hang. Perhaps he’d let it. Maybe he’d finally let the world consume him, no matter how many damned times he’d stuck his head above the water and strived for the surface. His hands shook and trembled and gave everything away; no need for the masks, no need for the pretenses, done in and haggard.

Because why was it always her? How many times had she sacrificed herself for the many? And what good had it done? What had anything they’d ever tried amounted to?

He could feel Zuriel pulsing back an answer, and he shook his head, reeling, sickened, overcome, overwhelmed, yearning to do something and finding himself shaking, reaching, and then pulling back. He couldn’t even hold her, not until they knew the extent of her injuries. He couldn’t even explain or understand what had happened here, when she’d simply been going to the infirmary, when they’d been only been moving people out of further harm. How had buildings been torn apart? How had she gotten like this?

Someone’s voice, Wessex, pulled away at him, and he lifted his gaze finally, his name somewhere in the throng, before the piercing, anguished shade wandered back over her traces, the unmoving limbs. She didn’t reach for him. Didn’t need him. Useless, useless, useless, not enough anthem staggering back into his senses. Whatever harpsichord rhapsodies and halcyon hours they’d had before seemed to dissolve and flicker apart in a matter of moments, pounding against his head as if they’d all been a hazy, distant dream.

The Sword turned away for a second, only to concoct and build between his palms, a stretcher appearing, trying to do something in the midst of his aching silence, quaking breaths, beseeched havoc, the wreckage pulling over. It sat there on the ground, on the rubble, just another pit and pendulum, and he swiveled back, waiting, waiting, waiting, nothing left of his entity, drained and gone.
i'm in the mood to dissolve in the sky
Amalia Chandrakant
the Shield of Safrin
Baker
Portal Guardian
Age: 22 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural
Level: 11 - Strg: 31 - Dext: 30 - Endr: 30 - Luck: 31
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
Played by: charks Offline
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Posts: 1,745
MP:
#11
until i'm ready, let me be
Slowly the rest of it swims into focus, faces and voiced, figures and words. She reaches for Wessex as a child might her mother, the greatest beacon of familiarity despite their countless differences - differences momentarily forgotten as Amalia searches for comfort and reassurance, her pale face awash with sweat.

But everyone is fine brings her back, her dark eyes eagerly seeking confirmation of that fact. Once again she attempts to rise, wincing at the strain it puts on her still-fragile arms. The pain is worth it for what she sees: Amun holding a frantic Jyoti, Jigano knelt beside her on the ground, and there, clearing the rubble away-

"Deimos!" Amalia gasps, completely disregarding her injuries in the relief of seeing him, never mind how he got there, how long he has been working. Reaching out weakly but with growing strength the girl tries to grab her lover, tears in her eyes as her bruised body protests. She tries to rise further but her legs aren't helping, and it is with another gasp of agony that she catches herself on her shoulders as she falls.

She doesn't notice the pain as much, though, because she's busy staring at her legs.

Her gnarled, bruised, battered legs.

Her woefully wounded, black and blue legs.

Her legs which ought to scream in agony, and yet...

"I can't feel them," Amalia whispers. "I can't feel my legs."
i have to heal myself
AmaLiA
Jigano Silversmith
the Sage
Provost of the Loreseekers Soul Shepherd / Outlander Advisor
Portal Guardian
Age: 29 | Height: 6'2" | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 10 - Strg: 30 - Dext: 32 - Endr: 37 - Luck: 35
ISUMA - Mythical - Gryphon (venomous)
Played by: Cirago Offline
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Posts: 3,194
MP:
#12
Everyone but Ronin, Jigano could not help but think, but the truth was too confusing in that moment to consider beyond the need to keep Amalia stable, using his power alongside the staff Amun wielded and Zuriel's horn to knit muscle and organs, rebuilding veins and arteries and stitching skin as seconds ticked by and Deimos shifted the rock that bound the Shield's legs. He gave his magic to her unstintingly, his hands hot with the energies that swirled in golden chords from his soul to her body as the work of the three healers melded together to soothe and renew what had been shattered and broken.

She shifted, reaching for her lover, and Jigano simply shifted with her, slipping an arm behind her shoulders to support her without breaking the concentration of his magic. He bared his teeth at her gasp, frustration at his own inability to fix what was broken faster warring with the ache of fear in his chest that she had been hurt so badly. Her legs were a mess, but now that the rock was off of them the magic could pull them back together, mending bone and muscle--

Her words stole his breath and he glanced frantically to Zuriel and then back to Amun, his previous annoyance at the man forgotten in the moment as they strove in concert. "Why isn't it working?" He asked, feeling the magic flowing from him, seeing the results of their efforts, but feeling hollow despair at Amalia's whisper. Not enough. "Amun, is there magic left in the staff?"
Amun Arlun
Potter

Age: 34 | Height: 5'7'' | Race: Ascended | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 5 - Strg: 16 - Dext: 16 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 23
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#13
my whole life is mine, but whoever says so will deprive me,
for it is infinite.
When Amalia called and reached out for Deimos, Amun finally shifted out of the way, giving the baker space, though her staff remained on her skin. However, when she revealed the full extent of her injuries, the potter winced. ”It’s okay. It’s going to be okay, kitty.” His voice was as comforting as he knew how.

Thankfully, there was a convenient target for the dark swirl of emotions within him in the form of the frantic Jigano. ”You’re the Sage. You tell me peppercorn. But do it quietly, please.” Amun made sure to pitch his voice just loud enough for the bard to hear. It came out in a hissed whisper.

Taking care not to show that the staff wasn’t healing his hand or his hip, he finally lifted it off Amalia. Instead, he shifted to heal Wessex, who’d sustained her own fair share of injuries. He did his best to soothe Jyoti, though it was hard with his mangled hand, so he shifted the staff into the crook of his elbow.

Then he pet the starwhale with his healthy hand. ”Shh. She’s safe.” Again, his voice was barely above a whisper.
by being moved I exert my empire,
making the dreams of night real
AMUN
Wessex Theskyra
the Wraith
Explorer

Age: 40 | Height: 5'8'' | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Natural
Level: 3 - Strg: 29 - Dext: 30 - Endr: 29 - Luck: 30
LOKI - Mythical - Dragon (Energy Blast)
Played by: Astor Offline
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#14
WESSEX
the wraith
If there is a soft spot, a chink in Wessex’s many layored armor, it is for Amalia (and Rory - but this is not his story); even monsters (as some of them might call her) can be loving mothers. And sometimes the best mothers end up being monsters. Wessex is no Medea, no Maleficent, no vengeful spirit. Quietly doing what she can in terms of reassurance and soothing, the Wraith accepts the staff’s healing with a silent, heartfelt thank  you to Amun for this thoughtfulness.  

Moving aside for Deimos if he wants to come closer, Wessex is quiet until those fateful words cause her eyes to fly to Amalia’s legs - she’s no medic, she doesn’t know what could cause paralysis like this. Is it something that will wear off? Eventually fix itself? Does it just need a shit ton of healing? Looking at the stretcher Deimos has created and trying to avoid panic in her eyes and voice, she looks to the rest of them, hoping they’ve heard the complaint too.

“Well. Let’s figure out what that’s all about somewhere else, ok?” If they’re in agreement, Wessex will help move rubble to allow for an easy transition to the stretcher, and then accompanying Amalia to the infirmary.

{Fin for W}
she's pullin' the trigger
cause it's me and the moon, she says
and i have no trouble with that


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