What was he doing last? He remembers that he was desperate to save someone, his ring responding to his call, but—who? Ah, power—he needs more power if he wants to accomplish anything.
The trickle of the river echoes distantly in his ears. Surrounding him are corpses, lying amidst the grass, that he vaguely recognizes as soldiers. And standing before him is a wary-looking woman, barely able to stand or to hold the sword in her shaking hands. (Were there more people here before? Well, better that they've left you.) She says something, but it's muddy in his mind, like words whose meaning he doesn't understand.]
Come on, Arthur...
[He should kill her, if she means to get in his way. He's strong now, his body transformed into that of a giant, wolf-like creature with powerful eyes and even sharper fangs and claws, but it's not enough. How can he protect anything if he's not strong enough? (He couldn't even protect ██████, in the war.) He needs more. Moremoremore—
In the distance, another voice calls out, that of a young man's.]
[he turns his new form to glance at the man speaking to him, but his attention is primarily focused on the young woman - she was here first, and she's challenging him.
his first attempt is to knock the sword out of her hands with slash of his claws, teeth bared. 10!!]
[This is a mediocre attempt, like almost everything Arthur has done in this cyoa, but given how injured the woman seems to be, a 10 is good enough. The sword goes flying from her hands, as she swears.
Before he can move to attack her again, though, a figure darts towards him, slashing at his legs to try and incapacitate him. Should he turn to look at the newcomer, he'll see a young man with a white bandana.]
What the hell is going on here...?
[While this is happening, Opal doesn't hesitate to dash for her sword again, wincing at the pressure this puts on her injuries.]
[Unfortunately for Arthur, this newcomer is not injured, so a 12 is not quite good enough—allowing the man to block the attack with his sword, holding it up as he struggles against Arthur's strength.]
This a friend of yours? He's not looking too good—!
[With what little strength she has right now, wounded but determined, the woman aims to stab Arthur in the gut, calling out as she does so.]
I know I can't exactly say, "let's talk this out, Arthur" right now, but come on—if you can hear me at all, give me a sign!
[The blade goes through his gut, not quite fatal but fairly debilitating. As the woman withdraws, Arthur collapses, his blood splattering. With Arthur less able to move now, the man holds his blade to the neck of, what looks to him, a wolf-like monster who poses a threat to this village. Still, it's not as if he missed the woman talking to Arthur as though he was a friend, so he only keeps his sword there for now, as if waiting for permission to slit his throat.
The woman is grappling with her injuries, since all this fighting has absolutely not been good for any of them. She watches, a silent plea for things to work out.]
Arthur.
[But perhaps even she knows how this will end—
Especially since, with a roll of 5, desperation has fully taken over Arthur's mind. Pain blossoms in his abdomen, but even amidst it, he knows that he needs power. He needs to get rid of everyone in his way. His wounds aren't making that easy, but he can try and struggle nevertheless.]
[he's hurt and he's desperate and the combination makes him angry, angrier than a frightened reminder of his name can cure. he's trying to lunge at the man who holds the sword, fury in his eyes.
[Well. Arthur lunges, and the swordsman reacts both on instinct and deliberation, slicing Arthur's throat with his neck.]
... I'm sorry.
[As Arthur collapses, the woman comes closer, kneeling down on the ground by him.]
... You really deserved better than this, Arthur.
[Suffice to say, this is a fatal injury. But it's because death now takes a hold of Arthur, dragging his soul away, that finally, he starts to come to his senses. Just for a moment, hazy through the anger; just long enough for him to respond and die as himself, not as a monster.]
[all he feels once he realizes what he's done, the unchangeable damage he's wrought, is a deep, all encompassing guilt. he wonders if he might have preferred to slip away without understanding it all, but he's dimly aware that's a final moment of selfishness in a life too full of them.
he looks up towards her, and of course he's not angry. in fact:]
I didn't... deserve better.
[he never has, and it wasn't her fault. his last thought is a desperate hope that she knows this.]
What was he doing last? He remembers that despair and hopelessness crept on him, his ring responding to his desire for salvation, but—who? Ah, power—he needs more power if he wants to accomplish anything.
Footsteps echo, the sound of people fleeing the scene. Surrounding him are corpses, lying amidst the grass, that he vaguely recognizes as soldiers. And standing before him is a timid-looking young man, pointing his weapon at Gregor. Everyone else has fled. (Something about this strikes Gregor with regret; there was, perhaps, someone he wanted dead more than anything.) The man, practically still a boy, says something, but it's muddy in his mind, like words whose meaning he doesn't understand.]
Gregor, snap out of it! I'm sorry for everything, just—please!
[He should kill him, if he means to get in his way. He's strong now, his body transformed further into that of a bug-like abomination, both of his arms sharp claws and wings sprouted from his back, but it's not enough. How can he assert his own will if he's not strong enough? (His own powerlessness has led him to ruin, and it may lead even ████ to it.) He needs more. Moremoremore—
In the distance, contrary to the other footsteps fleeing the area, one (or two?) set is coming closer.
[right. kill them. that's the only thing left to do at this point. the only way to move forward after he'd been made helpless by his own circumstances.
he wants-- what was it he wanted to do?
...ah, does it even matter, now? he just needs to...
his wings twitch as he swipes a sharp claw toward the young man, but luckily for him, gregor rolled a whole 3.]
[The young man easily dodges, before moving to slash at one of Gregor's claws.
The footsteps are louder now, as two figures emerge on the scene. One of them is an older woman, while a younger woman trails behind her. They both seem familiar to Gregor, but it's hazy in his mind. If anything, something about them only reinforces what Gregor believes—he needs more power. He needs to get rid of anything that stands in his way of that.]
Is that...?
Gregor... what happened...?
[But again, while Gregor can hear the words, they mean nothing to him.]
he hisses as the man slashes back at him, and that keeps gregor's attention for the moment; this time he lashes out at him with both clawed bug arms, intending to stab them right through his body if he can.]
[Gregor stabs right through the man, who coughs up blood as he's impaled on these claws. Somehow, he's still holding onto life, but that is absolutely an incapacitating injury, in part because I wrote myself into a corner and realize I needed Sinclair out of this scene.]
Gregor, can't you hear me...?
You've really lost it, huh...
[The older woman darts forward, swinging her axe at Gregor's legs to try and cripple him.]
[well i hope you need to kill gregor in this scene bc my rolls are gonna do it.
she darts forward, but i don't think that roll's going to do anything against her axe; he screeches in pain, wings flaring, as she moves in and strikes.]
[That's a clean slice into his legs, deep enough that he'll have trouble moving.
Something frantic continues to take over him, a bid for power. If he had any will to overcome it, it's not happening with his roll of 6, and so the thought remains—he needs to be stronger. To be able to decide his own fate.
Physically, that's not going so well for him, with that injury to his legs. He can still try and struggle, may feel the urge to. The woman stands over him with her axe, ready to cut him down if need be.]
Gregor... he's too far gone, isn't he?
[That's becoming clear now, with not a hint of sanity left in Gregor's eyes. Slowly, she walks towards him and the other woman.]
gregor falls, legs giving out beneath him, and fights to drag himself forward by reaching out and digging his clawed limbs into the earth. like this, struggling in the dirt, devoid of reason... he probably seems more like a real bug than he ever has.
one arm supports him, as he stretches the other out.]
[Both women watch him sadly, the older one still poised to strike if need be—but the younger woman steps forward. This is her brother, after all. She can handle things.
There is in fact lore as to why Yuri has a sword now—emblem of the Riven army on it—as she withdraws it from her sheath, but that is a story no one will know. What's important is that she holds it out now, trying to steady her shaking hands.
Once she feels that she's ready, she kneels down on the ground by Gregor. Unafraid, she reaches for his face with her free hand.]
I'm so, so sorry, Gregor. Why did things turn out this way...?
[And then, with her other hand, she slits his throat.
Suffice to say, this is a fatal injury. But it's because death now takes a hold of Gregor, dragging his soul away, that finally, he starts to come to his senses. Just for a moment, hazy through the despair; just long enough for him to respond and die as himself, not as a monster.]
[no. no, he can't die like this, he isn't-- he's not strong enough. he-
...what has he done.
hazy it is, through the despair and the pain (and wetness blurring his vision, now), he sees her properly.
she's safe. and she-- it seems like she can protect herself. like she has someone there to help, if she can't. and so long as that's the case...]
Yu... ri.
[...he doesn't have to die wondering what will become of her, without him. gregor chokes her name out through the blood, head tilting into the touch of her hand, and closes his eyes.]
[Rodya continues to stand watch, but even with her, there's sorrow in her gaze. Trying not to cry, Yuri holds Gregor's face in her hand, until the very end.
And with that, Gregor dies... and then, he wakes up.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
NIGHT 3
ARTHUR
What was he doing last? He remembers that he was desperate to save someone, his ring responding to his call, but—who? Ah, power—he needs more power if he wants to accomplish anything.
The trickle of the river echoes distantly in his ears. Surrounding him are corpses, lying amidst the grass, that he vaguely recognizes as soldiers. And standing before him is a wary-looking woman, barely able to stand or to hold the sword in her shaking hands. (Were there more people here before? Well, better that they've left you.) She says something, but it's muddy in his mind, like words whose meaning he doesn't understand.]
Come on, Arthur...
[He should kill her, if she means to get in his way. He's strong now, his body transformed into that of a giant, wolf-like creature with powerful eyes and even sharper fangs and claws, but it's not enough. How can he protect anything if he's not strong enough? (He couldn't even protect ██████, in the war.) He needs more. Moremoremore—
In the distance, another voice calls out, that of a young man's.]
Hey, what's going on here?
[Another distraction, perhaps. Kill them all.]
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his first attempt is to knock the sword out of her hands with slash of his claws, teeth bared. 10!!]
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Before he can move to attack her again, though, a figure darts towards him, slashing at his legs to try and incapacitate him. Should he turn to look at the newcomer, he'll see a young man with a white bandana.]
[While this is happening, Opal doesn't hesitate to dash for her sword again, wincing at the pressure this puts on her injuries.]
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[With what little strength she has right now, wounded but determined, the woman aims to stab Arthur in the gut, calling out as she does so.]
I know I can't exactly say, "let's talk this out, Arthur" right now, but come on—if you can hear me at all, give me a sign!
[It's all just more babble to him.]
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The woman is grappling with her injuries, since all this fighting has absolutely not been good for any of them. She watches, a silent plea for things to work out.]
Arthur.
[But perhaps even she knows how this will end—
Especially since, with a roll of 5, desperation has fully taken over Arthur's mind. Pain blossoms in his abdomen, but even amidst it, he knows that he needs power. He needs to get rid of everyone in his way. His wounds aren't making that easy, but he can try and struggle nevertheless.]
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i rolled a two lmao]
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[As Arthur collapses, the woman comes closer, kneeling down on the ground by him.]
... You really deserved better than this, Arthur.
[Suffice to say, this is a fatal injury. But it's because death now takes a hold of Arthur, dragging his soul away, that finally, he starts to come to his senses. Just for a moment, hazy through the anger; just long enough for him to respond and die as himself, not as a monster.]
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he looks up towards her, and of course he's not angry. in fact:]
I didn't... deserve better.
[he never has, and it wasn't her fault. his last thought is a desperate hope that she knows this.]
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... Idiot. Don't say that.
[And that's the last thing Arthur hears, before he dies... and then, he wakes up.]
GREGOR
What was he doing last? He remembers that despair and hopelessness crept on him, his ring responding to his desire for salvation, but—who? Ah, power—he needs more power if he wants to accomplish anything.
Footsteps echo, the sound of people fleeing the scene. Surrounding him are corpses, lying amidst the grass, that he vaguely recognizes as soldiers. And standing before him is a timid-looking young man, pointing his weapon at Gregor. Everyone else has fled. (Something about this strikes Gregor with regret; there was, perhaps, someone he wanted dead more than anything.) The man, practically still a boy, says something, but it's muddy in his mind, like words whose meaning he doesn't understand.]
Gregor, snap out of it! I'm sorry for everything, just—please!
[He should kill him, if he means to get in his way. He's strong now, his body transformed further into that of a bug-like abomination, both of his arms sharp claws and wings sprouted from his back, but it's not enough. How can he assert his own will if he's not strong enough? (His own powerlessness has led him to ruin, and it may lead even ████ to it.) He needs more. Moremoremore—
In the distance, contrary to the other footsteps fleeing the area, one (or two?) set is coming closer.
Another distraction, perhaps. Kill them all.]
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he wants-- what was it he wanted to do?
...ah, does it even matter, now? he just needs to...
his wings twitch as he swipes a sharp claw toward the young man, but luckily for him, gregor rolled a whole 3.]
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The footsteps are louder now, as two figures emerge on the scene. One of them is an older woman, while a younger woman trails behind her. They both seem familiar to Gregor, but it's hazy in his mind. If anything, something about them only reinforces what Gregor believes—he needs more power. He needs to get rid of anything that stands in his way of that.]
[But again, while Gregor can hear the words, they mean nothing to him.]
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he hisses as the man slashes back at him, and that keeps gregor's attention for the moment; this time he lashes out at him with both clawed bug arms, intending to stab them right through his body if he can.]
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[The older woman darts forward, swinging her axe at Gregor's legs to try and cripple him.]
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she darts forward, but i don't think that roll's going to do anything against her axe; he screeches in pain, wings flaring, as she moves in and strikes.]
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Something frantic continues to take over him, a bid for power. If he had any will to overcome it, it's not happening with his roll of 6, and so the thought remains—he needs to be stronger. To be able to decide his own fate.
Physically, that's not going so well for him, with that injury to his legs. He can still try and struggle, may feel the urge to. The woman stands over him with her axe, ready to cut him down if need be.]
[That's becoming clear now, with not a hint of sanity left in Gregor's eyes. Slowly, she walks towards him and the other woman.]
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gregor falls, legs giving out beneath him, and fights to drag himself forward by reaching out and digging his clawed limbs into the earth. like this, struggling in the dirt, devoid of reason... he probably seems more like a real bug than he ever has.
one arm supports him, as he stretches the other out.]
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There is in fact lore as to why Yuri has a sword now—emblem of the Riven army on it—as she withdraws it from her sheath, but that is a story no one will know. What's important is that she holds it out now, trying to steady her shaking hands.
Once she feels that she's ready, she kneels down on the ground by Gregor. Unafraid, she reaches for his face with her free hand.]
[And then, with her other hand, she slits his throat.
Suffice to say, this is a fatal injury. But it's because death now takes a hold of Gregor, dragging his soul away, that finally, he starts to come to his senses. Just for a moment, hazy through the despair; just long enough for him to respond and die as himself, not as a monster.]
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...what has he done.
hazy it is, through the despair and the pain (and wetness blurring his vision, now), he sees her properly.
she's safe. and she-- it seems like she can protect herself. like she has someone there to help, if she can't. and so long as that's the case...]
Yu... ri.
[...he doesn't have to die wondering what will become of her, without him. gregor chokes her name out through the blood, head tilting into the touch of her hand, and closes his eyes.]
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And with that, Gregor dies... and then, he wakes up.]