[ the smell of rot and decay doesn't slow him, he'd be a badly trained blood hunter if it did, but the movement - the pathetic empty nature of it does. his hand shakes before he forcibly stops it, in time to try and dodge the horn coming for his side.
sure, it probably does sound like someone he knew. a lot of dying sounds the same. terror and pain makes all animals alike. he shakes his arm free of the gunk to try and take another stab at it before he hears the shouting.
the name viktor says is only slightly familiar, but he does remember hearing it - and he whips his head around to see if he can spot what exactly the fucking issue is. Look he's fought with plenty of casters before, and knows exactly where they should be on a battlefield - and it's definitely not running full-tilt towards the deadly part of the monster. ]
Fuck-- Back up!
[ he'll try and grab this thing by one of the horns to physically haul its head to the side, distract it, taking another stab with the dagger. if only to get it stop making that sound. ]
[the worst thing is that viktor gets to see jayce make eye contact with him, as he dies. he gurgles, the nasty and wet sound of someone choking on blood, lungs filled with it. it leaks from his mouth. purple, and thick, like sludge. he stares you in the eye, viktor, and you swear you can hear him asking you why. why did you let this happen?
and then, like it was never him at all, it's a monster again. a wailing, horrible ram-like creature, turning its head and opening its mouth. its jaw falls open, and a blast of that horrible purple darkness shoots like a concentrated beam to knock viktor back. it hits him, but with a [7] it might not be enough to knock him away. still. when it does, it leaves streaks of deep purple across his face and neck, leaves those areas feeling sore and aching. and he feels... bad. there's something angry and despairing. he watched lucien kill jayce. he just saw it. how could lucien do that?
but there are bigger things to worry about right now. he can deal with that later.
lucien grabs the monster, trying to yank the horns to the side. this works, but only barely. it lets out a tiny wail, and tosses its head, trying to get free, but it does take another stab to the side, and gushes even more of that thick ooze. wildly, it kicks, and the hooves do make contact [12] but the impact isn't that hard. he might have a nice hoof-shaped bruise against his side later. it seems to be panicking.
this time, when it looks at lucien, it opens its mouth and coughs out: HeLpMehelPmeHelPmeEhelpme as it tries to ram him to the ground, tries to stomp him, tries to turn him to paste.]
[All he can think to yell in his lunacy is,] You're killing him! [The man is already fucking dead!!
He does not stop running right up until the thing is suddenly no longer Jayce, and he's rattled with surprise. Two seconds of it before a wall of putrid shadow washes out over one side of him while he twists away. It scares him; he'd be a liar if he said it didn't. The taint of illness that quickly becomes familiar again.
Frantically, he swipes at his face and neck, trying to scrape the goo away. Whatever scraps of his bearings are left make him realize--it's a monster. It's a monster. It's right on top of him almost because he ran in like an idiot, and now it's attacking Lucien.
He raises the staff up in front of him, eyes wild, and then... hesitates. Surely it's fine; retribution for Jayce. No! Justice! But... Jayce had begun to betray his trust? Jayce hadn't even told him about the hammer, just waltzed in with it like he was God's gift to Piltover. He slams the staff down against the ground to cast Glacies Claudere.]
[ the kick hits his side and makes him suck in a breath, but it isn't terrible, he has absolutely no idea viktor has failed a wisdom roll so badly, and is trying to parse out this particular statement being frantically yelled at him - yeah, obviously, he's trying to kill it? - that it's a distraction. down to the ground he goes, rolling to avoid the worst of it, hoping the godsdamned sounds stop.
if viktor is looking for retribution or justice it does feel fitting that a big purple horned thing is going to stomp lucien to death with its hooves. that feels fair. if he notices viktor's hesitation, he doesn't say anything, focused on trying not to get caught and killed here.
he can't reach it with his dagger while he's on the ground, so his main goal is to get up and away, back on his feet. ]
[ the creature bleats pathetically as it practically death rolls around on lucien [14, 9] leaving that nasty horrible purple gunk all over him. the hooves are a problem, and they probably crack or break bones if he's not careful about how he gets out from under it, leaves bruises and breaks the skin at a particularly nasty thud to his collarbone. not only that, but the purple gunk burns, where it touches the skin. like frostbite, so cold that it strips the skin. it won't leave purple streaks on him like it does viktor because, y'know. already purple, but it is noticeably darker where he scrapes it off. like an infection.
but he can get away from it! good thing, too, because viktor is casting. and see, here's the thing - glacies claudere is fucking explosive.
this thing? this monster? there's no way it can take three consecutive ice explosions in the shape its in. lucien has stabbed the fuck out of it. it's not that strong, it's already bleeding out. so when the ice storm forms around them, bitingly cold, and jams one, two, three icicles into the thing's back, it wails.]
HELpmehELPmEHELPHELPME -- Lucien!
[and this time, you know that voice, lucien, because it's brevyn.
but you don't see her body. you barely can see anything, the way the ice shatters inside this thing. all at once, the purple and the shadow and the flesh slough off of its body with a disgusting, wet noise, melting and oozing to the ground, rotting off into chunks and viscera. it splatters across trees and the ground and probably you. briefly, as the thing gurgles, there's a perfect series of bones in the shape of an auroch -
and then with a painfully loud clatter in the silent forest, they crash to the ground. the monster's flesh melts and rots into the forest floor, deep into the mud, and sizzles.
neither of you can't escape the ice, you're too close. whatever you roll next is to figure out just how much damage this spell at close range does to you. and viktor, it's worse, because the second you finish casting this spell, all of your energy is gone. you are exhausted, and can't stand for a few minutes - so roll at a disadvantage. ]
[As the energy begins to churn and swell up through him, he starts to wail in a desperate attempt to muster all the strength he can. Everything else is pushed to the side. The pain of the ooze on the side of his body, the pain of his body in general, the ache in the pit of his chest, the scream of the dying creature.
He yells, squeezing his fingers around the staff until his knuckles are white. The ice goes off, the first jostling him, the second when he digs his heels in, the third. As soon as the last one leaves, his energy evaporates on the spot, leaving him frozen to the core and tired.
Instantly, he drops, slipping down the staff and into a pile on the frosty ground.]
[ there's a sickening crunch as it hits his collarbone, but there's enough adrenaline and rage there to ignore it for the moment - the worst bit is all the blood that's simply waste. it's a burning pit in his stomach that here he's weak, and useless - the Somnovem only answer in this place to remind him of their eternal watch with none of the gifts, and the magic in his blood is dead and silent and rotten, mixing with the purple infection left on his skin. blood for blood's sake alone. useless.
he's backing up as rapidly as he can, not so much on his feet as kicking himself backwards along the ground and back towards where viktor is, cursing the whole way - a ripple of fear making him pause when he hears her. that's not unusual. he hears her voice all the time. he hadn't, for a long time. but here again where he's woefully mortal and small the dreams have returned. voices of the dead just out of reach. but she hadn't died with a scream. it was laughing at him for his frantic and panicked apologies, a shudder and silence. he doesn't need to see the body to imagine it clearly. squeezing his eyes shut and yelling himself to block out the damned noise.
he'll do his best to rip out the shield he'd pilfered earlier and cover viktor from hopefully anything particularly fatal. idk man he's got the Tough feat, he can take a hit or two. fucking casters, man. ]
viktor screams - the monster matches in volume - lucien roars to drown it out, and the forest trembles with the force of it. thankfully, the shield comes in handy, and with an [18], lucien manages to pull it out easy, blocking the worst of the damage viktor might have taken [3]. and then, there's silence, as the monster rots into the ground, as the darkness crawls up back out of nowhere, trying almost frantically to latch on.
however.
lucien spends all his effort pulling out that shield, instead of defending himself from the worst of the ice. the shards shatter outward, and pierce his skin - his chest and his arms are just absolutely embedded with ice chunks, some deeper than others. but most painful of all of those is his eye. he gets staggered back a bit as the chunk of ice slams into one of them, his vision going flat.
viktor doesn't escape entirely. while he doesn't take an incredible amount of damage, there's still a rather large icicle that sneaks past the shield and through his hand entirely, right through the palm. it's lodged there, a bloody mess of a hole. he's also functionally stunned, conscious but just... incapable of movement, trembling, the works. talking is hard. breathing is hard. feeling pain is hard, even, but hey. when the shock wears off, it'll kick in.
but hey! the thing is dead! yay! take a second to recover.]
[A low, sickening gurgle comes out of him, short. Vertigo tips him upside down, and he can feel thr nausea climbing the back of this throat.
And then there is darkness. Peace and quiet. How long? Maybe seconds only.
The crackle of ice fills his ears as he comes to again. His body hurts all over in extremely numb way, but when does it never hurt all over? He only notices the icicle when he raises his hand across the ground toward Lucien, desperate. He notices the rot staining his skin. He can't do anything but claw at the cold dirt.]
L...u...
[Why is his tongue so thick and fuzzy? Panic shoots up through him when he sees the shards of ice. No, no, no. Why does everything he tries to do hurt someone else?]
[ he goes to sit directly on the ground - throwing the shield to the side and off into the woods with as much force as he's able to summon. stupid. impatient. attacking right away when he should have waited, watched, but there are some habits he will never learn. he tries to assess the damage but there's too much blood in his eye, making it hard to see for the moment. it will probably be fine once he wipes it away, surely, but it's too tender to the touch right now. it'll have to wait. let's think positively, the purple sear of the shadow has probably ruined a lot of the brightly colored tattoos along his arms. only the lurid red eyes remain perfectly unharmed, as always.
there's a long release of breath once viktor speaks again - however haltingly. turning to try and see him, realizing he can't if he turns to his left so he has to shift the other direction instead - cursing when he sees the icicle. ]
Don't tell me what to do.
[ his voice is steady but thick with blood, a little wheezy. but okay!!!!! well. for once in his fucking life he does as he's told and eats a flippin' Grape. but he's also pulling out the apothecary's potion and if viktor won't drink that willingly or can't get up enough to do it, he will force it down his throat. ]
[ nothing says im a wizard like blowing all your sp in one shot. viktor, if your brains are currently not totally scrambled, you maybe, maybe remember that you also have a plum, which might help with your mana. eat your fruit you little fruit
lucien, the grape you eat is juicy and sweet and you feel a little bit better. if viktor does choose to drink the potion, he will feel more like a person and less like a pincushion. you're both wet and cold, now.
your lanterns have been dropped. their flames are very low, sputtering and flickering, and you swear, you swear that the purple fog is starting to roll in again, rising from the remains of the monster, or maybe from further beyond. take a second to catch your breath.
In the haze, he's relieved when Lucien listens. And then he's equally as stubborn about getting anything himself, only because he thinks Lucien should have it, too. He tries to jerk his head away, but doing so makes him swim, so he simply has to take being force-fed a potion. He will eat the plum in a minute once he's up and coherent. (takes a chance on me, anna, remembering)
Amazing how much better you feel after a fucking potion!
It gives him the energy to sit up without the spin of vertigo, or the pain anywhere else. He glances at his own hand; the ice has mostly melted, leaving behind the remnants of a tiny bloodied hole. He came out better than Lucien despite having pulled a three. When he looks up, he startles and reaches out to touch the bottom of Lucien's face.]
Your... I'm sorry... [WHY HAS HE DONE THIS would fire have been better? lightning?] We've got to get out of here.
[ the worst part is he somehow still has shit to use. stealing will get you everywhere, there are simply no downsides. ]
Don't apologize.
[ the apologizing makes him itchy and weird. i mean, what's worse, some ice shrapnel he'll have to dig out later or dying to a big ass angry cow by getting your skull stomped in? flesh heals, and death sucks so much more.
there's obvious relief once viktor can sit up and doesn't appear on the verge of simply passing away on the ground here. leaning into the hand on his face - which is a mess, by the way. one eye is obviously ruined, but that's what healing pods are for. pulling a hand up to cup the back of viktor's head and tugging him over to kiss him on the forehead, leaving behind a slightly bloody mark. sorry he murdered the fuck out of your illusion boyfriend and also still does not know that he did that. viktor can be mad at him for things he did in a dream, too. ]
Come on then, stop wasting time.
[ says the guy wasting time. getting to his feet with no small amount of effort - reaching down to help viktor up too if he needs it before going to collect his lamp and start moving again. ]
[ no downsides only the shame of robbing hikari ku that will haunt you even after you leave this cyoa for some reason.
this forehead kiss is extremely tender and it's so sweet that viktor can feel himself heal for +5 sp. this is a tiny amount that does nothing but it feels nice and warm. perhaps you could use it to cast like 1/10th of a spell.
as the two of you get to your feet, you might feel yourselves stumble. the good news is that you're upright, for what that's worth. the air is slick and cold, the ground wet, the cloying, choking, miserable fog having thickened to the point that it's hard to see anything but each other. as lucien collects his lamp, he'll see the light in it is a little brighter than it was before.
will viktor grab his lantern also? a path, ostensibly, awaits the two of you. you can continue forward. you see a red eye blink into the fog, and then disappear. watching, always watching.
in the back of lucien's head, a voice, sarcastic, says, "Wow. Don't steal my moves."]
[Even better than the pathetic scrap of SP is the fact he could actually feel the smooch to his forehead, albeit bloody. He does not realize two bloody lips are left behind and nor does he care in this moment. The backs of his eyes burn, and he had to keep his head down as he uses Lucien's help to get up.
While Lucien goes for the lantern, he goes for his staff and his own lantern, the lantern which he hooks over an elbow. And also he digs out the plum to pop it into his mouth. (So he can hurt Lucien more, he thinks.)
The rising fog startles him like a sheep, and he is herded quickly right up behind Lucien's right. The ground is too slippery right here, so he twines his arm around the upper part of Lucien's. It stiffens when the red eye appears. GO AWAY.]
he'll start pushing forward then - holding the lantern up so he can see as well as possibly can and curling his arm up to allow viktor to use hold on. he is not a great emotional support tiefling, but he's a pretty decent physical support tiefling. high dex for gettin' through the mud.
the voice in his head makes him rankle immediately, scowling into the fog and thinking a lot of violent thoughts in quick succession, enough so that he almost misses the red eye except for viktor's reaction - looking back at him for a brief moment. ]
They hate being ignored, so don't pay them any mind.
[ good advice, intentionally antagonize the haunted evil wizard eyeballs. ]
[yeah! antagonize the evil wizard eyeballs that'll do you some good.
anyway, you both have your lanterns, and you have each other. that's something. there's something in you that feels... comforted by that - other than your own. there's something warm for just a second that is glad you found each other in the dark, and for a second, your lanterns burn bright purple, and then teal, and then... back to normal.
and the warmth is gone. it's freezing, painfully so, and you're both already cold and wet, so this doesn't help anything.
gods. that's viktor's fault, isn't it, lucien? that you're soaked, and might be missing an eye? it's all his fault. and... viktor, you watched him kill jayce right in front of you. it was jayce, right? wasn't it? why did he do that?
I don't know how to live with them always watching...
[He hates it, thanks! He has to get those fucking things out of Lucien. He has to find a way to dig them all out, all nine. Clearly, that's the rot there.
The cold seeps in. His hands and feet go numb. The metal twisted inside the purple right leg is so frigid it feels like shards of glass embedded in the number flesh. He's quivering. The comfort he felt before dwindles. Lucien had killed Jayce. Without a second thought, too.
Would Lucien do that to him? Gut him with little care. He is... a Blacksnake. In the back of his mind, all he can hear is Pirro's voice, I mean someone in your little band of heroes is going to try to stab you in the back. With Pirro's warm hand on top of his own. He's slowed down, unsure if it's from the cold, or the doubt. Is Lucien the traitor...?]
Why did you...?
[His shaking hold loosens slightly. That... doesn't make sense. He shakes his head. Was it a ruse? Why would Lucien go through the trouble then? Wait--he's dead, he remembers now. Dead, several weeks ago, on a ship. His teeth clench, and he presses a discolored hand against the side of his head.]
They can't see everything. Just have to keep being flashy and distracting with one hand so you can keep the rest palmed to yourself.
[ i mean, listen, it's a little bit viktor's fault even without nasty thoughts trying to cloud his brain about it, he just decided it was alright before. but that makes sense, doesn't it? the condescending smart types. they're happy to use you in a fight and to send you first to dig through the ruins but once you've served your purpose, you're just as easily discarded. foolish mummer's boy, puppet on a string, doing exactly what he's supposed to. it makes the back of his neck crawl, and bile rise in his throat. he's probably trying to pull away now, slowing down and letting go of the arm so he can walk behind lucien - an easy shot to the back.
he tightens his own hold and keeps walking, stubborn, train of thought turning as viktor says something's wrong.]
[that's right - that's right, isn't it? he's a blacksnake. and pirro warned him about this. pirro told him that someone was going to do this. that someone would slide a knife through his ribs and take the treasure back to father. he killed someone dear to you right in front of you. aren't you afraid he's going to do the same to you?
and that's the thing about wizards. they use you. they have a goal, and it's never you. he always said he wanted to make the world a better place, but was that really his goal? maybe he wants power, lucien. maybe, if viktor is allowed to do whatever he wants, you'll be thrown to the side. again, like always. he'll take it from you, the world you plan on making. will you let that happen?
don't you want to kill him (lucien) (viktor)? don't you want to be the only one left standing? you don't want to die, do you?]
[Briefly, he's strangely comforted by the stubborn persistence. He keeps a hold of Lucien's arm and stumbles along after him. But unlike Lucien, who deals with the voices often, he does not have the experience or the fortitude.
This isn't like the whispery voice of the Core; these don't say the same things at all.
He's filled with a fear that, at first, doesn't feel like his own. And then it is. He's afraid. He's afraid of Lucien because, like this, frail, pathetic, weak, Lucien could easily kill him. Lucien might not even have to use the dagger even. That's how easily it would be.
Suddenly, he tries to get his arm back, away from Lucien. His face is bunched, a tug-of-war against coherency and the lunacy his mind keeps feeding him.] I know what you're after! [Wait, no. That was a lie, wasn't it? The mirror. The--whatever that was before.] You're just taking me somewhere to get rid of me, aren't you?
You were always going to get rid of me, like Jayce! I'm just... baggage to you. [He starts twisting, fighting like an animal caught in a snare.] Something's... I can't get it out of my head!
[Clarity, warm and sweet. Then he's frozen again, full of madness.]
I'm not going to die again! I don't want to die again!
[He raises the staff with his other hand. Because he's going to fucking MUG Lucien with it. Sorry to Lucien that he is full of stupid so easily.]
[ the voices sound exactly like the calls and pleas and gentle assurances of the Somnovem. Equal parts begging and demanding and terrified, bursting with near-insane glee. the warnings and the whispers of what is to come. they'll want to take it from you, they'll want to excise the blessing from the soul and they'll use it as a chance to discard the waste. take back what is rightfully his and turn it into a stupid, stumbling puppet.
besides, he's never thought viktor sounded anything but sincere. that's always been his problem. he believes what he says. of course he wants power, power is only a means to an end, a lever on the rock that sits on the back of the downtrodden. but viktor does want to make this world a better place. it's simply that to him, it would be better without lucien in it.
the staff will connect, lucien has a harder time dodging since he's down one eye - glancing off a horn and sending him stumbling briefly sideways. but even injured like he is, he's still quick and deadly - grabbing the staff to try and yank it out of viktor's hands and throwing it off to the side, and lashing out like a snake to wrap a hand around the front of viktor's throat and pushing him back. not holding him hard enough to choke, but tight enough to make a point - the claw of his thumb pressing tightly up against the bottom of his jaw. ]
[The reaction is coordinate and brisk enough, and he is weak enough, the staff is snatched so cleanly out of his hand and tossed away. The breath he lets out is loud, haggered, and then it pitches suddenly when Lucien gets him by the throat.
He stumbles, trying to make his leg work in the back-pedaling, held up for a second by Lucien's arm. Both of his hands grip Lucien's wrist. The chihuahua shaking he's doing is mostly from the bitter cold and the drop off of adrenaline, but it's happening.]
No... [It's a strained whisper. His expression is grimaced; he doesn't try to throw a fit to get out of the hold like he had a few seconds ago.] I can hear it. You can hear it, right? The voice.
[It's a voice, right? Or is it... himself?]
...I'm sorry. I hate this place. [The forest.] I just want us to leave.
[ the fingers on his hand twitch and there's a strong pressure behind his eyes, and viktor is right. there is a voice and he can hear it. right now it's a fly in his ear buzzing a frantic little `you don't have to do this, he's right, you can just stop, lucien--` and he is so fucking tired of that voice. why does it believe it gets an opinion now of all times? he should have excised it when he had the chance. his face screws up and he digs his fingers into the wound around his cheek where it leads up to his eye, clarifying pain.
if it's not him, they'll discard him, move onto someone more malleable, easier to guide, and he does not intend to give up an ounce of control. (he doesn't want to be the one left standing. he's been the one left standing before and every time it breaks something that feels so unfixable that soon there will be no choice left but the only choice there ever was: nothing but a world that bears all the same scars he has)
but that's the mistake he's made before, isn't it? every time he's been on the cusp of breaking free of the concerns of petty mortality, that voice has made him waver, stand back from the brink, stay a blade. let someone in too close who should never have been there in the first place. viktor is right, there is a voice, and he's going to prove it wrong.
the hand around viktor's throat loosens, cupping the side of his neck gently for a moment - before he moves to grab him tightly by the wrist, bringing his other hand down to slam into his elbow and hopefully send viktor bodily to the ground. can't cast shit if you've got a broken arm? ]
[Relief blooms in his chest when the hand loosens. For a moment, he has the clarity to realize: he's him, he is Viktor, and Lucien is Lucien, and he had died, and they have met again after so many weeks, in the flesh it feels like. And things will be okay. They can beat the forest and walk out of here together.
There is a dream somewhere of an open land of rolling hills covered in nothing but patches of clover, split by a little stream, sitting beneath a sunny and blue sky. And they are there together, Viktor healthy, with no screws, no brace, no bad leg, no illness, nothing but spindly working hands; and Lucien, unmarred, no eyes, no tattoos, no jewelry, not even any scars, nothing but calloused mandolin-playing fingers. They're there together. That's the dream just outside the forest, them sitting with their feet in the too cold water lying under the sun with clover in their hair.
Pain splits his skull from the back to the front, making his vision go white. He's not even sure, at first, it sounds like Lucien has snapped a branch. His legs drop out from beneath him; the book inside his jacket tumbles out below him and falls open. His arm won't do anything his brain tells it to do, not from the elbow down. His groan is a cross between agony and nausea.
He can't cast shit with a broken arm? Think again, bitch.
He slaps his other hand on the open page of the book, and his lips slur, quickly, the incantations, all garbled in another, elevated language. The edges of the book light up, and ozone fills the air. The hair on Lucien's head begins to stand, his skin prickles. Lucien has maybe two seconds to start to flee. The sky, where it is above them, lights up like the sun. I'm not rolling because he can't control it anyway and we can't die!!! He can only muster two shots. Lightning streaks down, hitting the ground nearby--one--another screams in the strangest, highest pitch as it smashes into the ground between Lucien's feet. A web of electricity leaps out, a net capturing the bottom of Lucien's legs and riding his body all the way up and out his mouth.]
Edited (i had to fix that typo it was making me laugh too much) 2024-03-27 21:21 (UTC)
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sure, it probably does sound like someone he knew. a lot of dying sounds the same. terror and pain makes all animals alike. he shakes his arm free of the gunk to try and take another stab at it before he hears the shouting.
the name viktor says is only slightly familiar, but he does remember hearing it - and he whips his head around to see if he can spot what exactly the fucking issue is. Look he's fought with plenty of casters before, and knows exactly where they should be on a battlefield - and it's definitely not running full-tilt towards the deadly part of the monster. ]
Fuck-- Back up!
[ he'll try and grab this thing by one of the horns to physically haul its head to the side, distract it, taking another stab with the dagger. if only to get it stop making that sound. ]
no subject
and then, like it was never him at all, it's a monster again. a wailing, horrible ram-like creature, turning its head and opening its mouth. its jaw falls open, and a blast of that horrible purple darkness shoots like a concentrated beam to knock viktor back. it hits him, but with a [7] it might not be enough to knock him away. still. when it does, it leaves streaks of deep purple across his face and neck, leaves those areas feeling sore and aching. and he feels... bad. there's something angry and despairing. he watched lucien kill jayce. he just saw it. how could lucien do that?
but there are bigger things to worry about right now. he can deal with that later.
lucien grabs the monster, trying to yank the horns to the side. this works, but only barely. it lets out a tiny wail, and tosses its head, trying to get free, but it does take another stab to the side, and gushes even more of that thick ooze. wildly, it kicks, and the hooves do make contact [12] but the impact isn't that hard. he might have a nice hoof-shaped bruise against his side later. it seems to be panicking.
this time, when it looks at lucien, it opens its mouth and coughs out: HeLpMehelPmeHelPmeEhelpme as it tries to ram him to the ground, tries to stomp him, tries to turn him to paste.]
no subject
He does not stop running right up until the thing is suddenly no longer Jayce, and he's rattled with surprise. Two seconds of it before a wall of putrid shadow washes out over one side of him while he twists away. It scares him; he'd be a liar if he said it didn't. The taint of illness that quickly becomes familiar again.
Frantically, he swipes at his face and neck, trying to scrape the goo away. Whatever scraps of his bearings are left make him realize--it's a monster. It's a monster. It's right on top of him almost because he ran in like an idiot, and now it's attacking Lucien.
He raises the staff up in front of him, eyes wild, and then... hesitates. Surely it's fine; retribution for Jayce. No! Justice! But... Jayce had begun to betray his trust? Jayce hadn't even told him about the hammer, just waltzed in with it like he was God's gift to Piltover. He slams the staff down against the ground to cast Glacies Claudere.]
no subject
if viktor is looking for retribution or justice it does feel fitting that a big purple horned thing is going to stomp lucien to death with its hooves. that feels fair. if he notices viktor's hesitation, he doesn't say anything, focused on trying not to get caught and killed here.
he can't reach it with his dagger while he's on the ground, so his main goal is to get up and away, back on his feet. ]
no subject
but he can get away from it! good thing, too, because viktor is casting. and see, here's the thing - glacies claudere is fucking explosive.
this thing? this monster? there's no way it can take three consecutive ice explosions in the shape its in. lucien has stabbed the fuck out of it. it's not that strong, it's already bleeding out. so when the ice storm forms around them, bitingly cold, and jams one, two, three icicles into the thing's back, it wails.]
HELpmehELPmEHELPHELPME -- Lucien!
[and this time, you know that voice, lucien, because it's brevyn.
but you don't see her body. you barely can see anything, the way the ice shatters inside this thing. all at once, the purple and the shadow and the flesh slough off of its body with a disgusting, wet noise, melting and oozing to the ground, rotting off into chunks and viscera. it splatters across trees and the ground and probably you. briefly, as the thing gurgles, there's a perfect series of bones in the shape of an auroch -
and then with a painfully loud clatter in the silent forest, they crash to the ground. the monster's flesh melts and rots into the forest floor, deep into the mud, and sizzles.
neither of you can't escape the ice, you're too close. whatever you roll next is to figure out just how much damage this spell at close range does to you. and viktor, it's worse, because the second you finish casting this spell, all of your energy is gone. you are exhausted, and can't stand for a few minutes - so roll at a disadvantage. ]
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He yells, squeezing his fingers around the staff until his knuckles are white. The ice goes off, the first jostling him, the second when he digs his heels in, the third. As soon as the last one leaves, his energy evaporates on the spot, leaving him frozen to the core and tired.
Instantly, he drops, slipping down the staff and into a pile on the frosty ground.]
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he's backing up as rapidly as he can, not so much on his feet as kicking himself backwards along the ground and back towards where viktor is, cursing the whole way - a ripple of fear making him pause when he hears her. that's not unusual. he hears her voice all the time. he hadn't, for a long time. but here again where he's woefully mortal and small the dreams have returned. voices of the dead just out of reach. but she hadn't died with a scream. it was laughing at him for his frantic and panicked apologies, a shudder and silence. he doesn't need to see the body to imagine it clearly. squeezing his eyes shut and yelling himself to block out the damned noise.
he'll do his best to rip out the shield he'd pilfered earlier and cover viktor from hopefully anything particularly fatal. idk man he's got the Tough feat, he can take a hit or two. fucking casters, man. ]
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viktor screams - the monster matches in volume - lucien roars to drown it out, and the forest trembles with the force of it. thankfully, the shield comes in handy, and with an [18], lucien manages to pull it out easy, blocking the worst of the damage viktor might have taken [3]. and then, there's silence, as the monster rots into the ground, as the darkness crawls up back out of nowhere, trying almost frantically to latch on.
however.
lucien spends all his effort pulling out that shield, instead of defending himself from the worst of the ice. the shards shatter outward, and pierce his skin - his chest and his arms are just absolutely embedded with ice chunks, some deeper than others. but most painful of all of those is his eye. he gets staggered back a bit as the chunk of ice slams into one of them, his vision going flat.
viktor doesn't escape entirely. while he doesn't take an incredible amount of damage, there's still a rather large icicle that sneaks past the shield and through his hand entirely, right through the palm. it's lodged there, a bloody mess of a hole. he's also functionally stunned, conscious but just... incapable of movement, trembling, the works. talking is hard. breathing is hard. feeling pain is hard, even, but hey. when the shock wears off, it'll kick in.
but hey! the thing is dead! yay! take a second to recover.]
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And then there is darkness. Peace and quiet. How long? Maybe seconds only.
The crackle of ice fills his ears as he comes to again. His body hurts all over in extremely numb way, but when does it never hurt all over? He only notices the icicle when he raises his hand across the ground toward Lucien, desperate. He notices the rot staining his skin. He can't do anything but claw at the cold dirt.]
L...u...
[Why is his tongue so thick and fuzzy? Panic shoots up through him when he sees the shards of ice. No, no, no. Why does everything he tries to do hurt someone else?]
Luc...ien... Eat ... e grape...
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there's a long release of breath once viktor speaks again - however haltingly. turning to try and see him, realizing he can't if he turns to his left so he has to shift the other direction instead - cursing when he sees the icicle. ]
Don't tell me what to do.
[ his voice is steady but thick with blood, a little wheezy. but okay!!!!! well. for once in his fucking life he does as he's told and eats a flippin' Grape. but he's also pulling out the apothecary's potion and if viktor won't drink that willingly or can't get up enough to do it, he will force it down his throat. ]
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lucien, the grape you eat is juicy and sweet and you feel a little bit better. if viktor does choose to drink the potion, he will feel more like a person and less like a pincushion. you're both wet and cold, now.
your lanterns have been dropped. their flames are very low, sputtering and flickering, and you swear, you swear that the purple fog is starting to roll in again, rising from the remains of the monster, or maybe from further beyond. take a second to catch your breath.
but maybe not too long? ]
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In the haze, he's relieved when Lucien listens. And then he's equally as stubborn about getting anything himself, only because he thinks Lucien should have it, too. He tries to jerk his head away, but doing so makes him swim, so he simply has to take being force-fed a potion. He will eat the plum in a minute once he's up and coherent. (takes a chance on me, anna, remembering)
Amazing how much better you feel after a fucking potion!
It gives him the energy to sit up without the spin of vertigo, or the pain anywhere else. He glances at his own hand; the ice has mostly melted, leaving behind the remnants of a tiny bloodied hole. He came out better than Lucien despite having pulled a three. When he looks up, he startles and reaches out to touch the bottom of Lucien's face.]
Your... I'm sorry... [WHY HAS HE DONE THIS would fire have been better? lightning?] We've got to get out of here.
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Don't apologize.
[ the apologizing makes him itchy and weird. i mean, what's worse, some ice shrapnel he'll have to dig out later or dying to a big ass angry cow by getting your skull stomped in? flesh heals, and death sucks so much more.
there's obvious relief once viktor can sit up and doesn't appear on the verge of simply passing away on the ground here. leaning into the hand on his face - which is a mess, by the way. one eye is obviously ruined, but that's what healing pods are for. pulling a hand up to cup the back of viktor's head and tugging him over to kiss him on the forehead, leaving behind a slightly bloody mark. sorry he murdered the fuck out of your illusion boyfriend and also still does not know that he did that. viktor can be mad at him for things he did in a dream, too. ]
Come on then, stop wasting time.
[ says the guy wasting time. getting to his feet with no small amount of effort - reaching down to help viktor up too if he needs it before going to collect his lamp and start moving again. ]
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this forehead kiss is extremely tender and it's so sweet that viktor can feel himself heal for +5 sp. this is a tiny amount that does nothing but it feels nice and warm. perhaps you could use it to cast like 1/10th of a spell.
as the two of you get to your feet, you might feel yourselves stumble. the good news is that you're upright, for what that's worth. the air is slick and cold, the ground wet, the cloying, choking, miserable fog having thickened to the point that it's hard to see anything but each other. as lucien collects his lamp, he'll see the light in it is a little brighter than it was before.
will viktor grab his lantern also? a path, ostensibly, awaits the two of you. you can continue forward. you see a red eye blink into the fog, and then disappear. watching, always watching.
in the back of lucien's head, a voice, sarcastic, says, "Wow. Don't steal my moves."]
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[Even better than the pathetic scrap of SP is the fact he could actually feel the smooch to his forehead, albeit bloody. He does not realize two bloody lips are left behind and nor does he care in this moment. The backs of his eyes burn, and he had to keep his head down as he uses Lucien's help to get up.
While Lucien goes for the lantern, he goes for his staff and his own lantern, the lantern which he hooks over an elbow. And also he digs out the plum to pop it into his mouth. (So he can hurt Lucien more, he thinks.)
The rising fog startles him like a sheep, and he is herded quickly right up behind Lucien's right. The ground is too slippery right here, so he twines his arm around the upper part of Lucien's. It stiffens when the red eye appears. GO AWAY.]
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he'll start pushing forward then - holding the lantern up so he can see as well as possibly can and curling his arm up to allow viktor to use hold on. he is not a great emotional support tiefling, but he's a pretty decent physical support tiefling. high dex for gettin' through the mud.
the voice in his head makes him rankle immediately, scowling into the fog and thinking a lot of violent thoughts in quick succession, enough so that he almost misses the red eye except for viktor's reaction - looking back at him for a brief moment. ]
They hate being ignored, so don't pay them any mind.
[ good advice, intentionally antagonize the haunted evil wizard eyeballs. ]
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anyway, you both have your lanterns, and you have each other. that's something. there's something in you that feels... comforted by that - other than your own. there's something warm for just a second that is glad you found each other in the dark, and for a second, your lanterns burn bright purple, and then teal, and then... back to normal.
and the warmth is gone. it's freezing, painfully so, and you're both already cold and wet, so this doesn't help anything.
gods. that's viktor's fault, isn't it, lucien? that you're soaked, and might be missing an eye? it's all his fault. and... viktor, you watched him kill jayce right in front of you. it was jayce, right? wasn't it? why did he do that?
do you keep walking?]
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[He hates it, thanks! He has to get those fucking things out of Lucien. He has to find a way to dig them all out, all nine. Clearly, that's the rot there.
The cold seeps in. His hands and feet go numb. The metal twisted inside the purple right leg is so frigid it feels like shards of glass embedded in the number flesh. He's quivering. The comfort he felt before dwindles. Lucien had killed Jayce. Without a second thought, too.
Would Lucien do that to him? Gut him with little care. He is... a Blacksnake. In the back of his mind, all he can hear is Pirro's voice, I mean someone in your little band of heroes is going to try to stab you in the back. With Pirro's warm hand on top of his own. He's slowed down, unsure if it's from the cold, or the doubt. Is Lucien the traitor...?]
Why did you...?
[His shaking hold loosens slightly. That... doesn't make sense. He shakes his head. Was it a ruse? Why would Lucien go through the trouble then? Wait--he's dead, he remembers now. Dead, several weeks ago, on a ship. His teeth clench, and he presses a discolored hand against the side of his head.]
--No. Nevermind. Something's wrong.
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[ i mean, listen, it's a little bit viktor's fault even without nasty thoughts trying to cloud his brain about it, he just decided it was alright before. but that makes sense, doesn't it? the condescending smart types. they're happy to use you in a fight and to send you first to dig through the ruins but once you've served your purpose, you're just as easily discarded. foolish mummer's boy, puppet on a string, doing exactly what he's supposed to. it makes the back of his neck crawl, and bile rise in his throat. he's probably trying to pull away now, slowing down and letting go of the arm so he can walk behind lucien - an easy shot to the back.
he tightens his own hold and keeps walking, stubborn, train of thought turning as viktor says something's wrong.]
Should keep moving. Only way out is through.
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and that's the thing about wizards. they use you. they have a goal, and it's never you. he always said he wanted to make the world a better place, but was that really his goal? maybe he wants power, lucien. maybe, if viktor is allowed to do whatever he wants, you'll be thrown to the side. again, like always. he'll take it from you, the world you plan on making. will you let that happen?
don't you want to kill him (lucien) (viktor)? don't you want to be the only one left standing? you don't want to die, do you?]
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[Briefly, he's strangely comforted by the stubborn persistence. He keeps a hold of Lucien's arm and stumbles along after him. But unlike Lucien, who deals with the voices often, he does not have the experience or the fortitude.
This isn't like the whispery voice of the Core; these don't say the same things at all.
He's filled with a fear that, at first, doesn't feel like his own. And then it is. He's afraid. He's afraid of Lucien because, like this, frail, pathetic, weak, Lucien could easily kill him. Lucien might not even have to use the dagger even. That's how easily it would be.
Suddenly, he tries to get his arm back, away from Lucien. His face is bunched, a tug-of-war against coherency and the lunacy his mind keeps feeding him.] I know what you're after! [Wait, no. That was a lie, wasn't it? The mirror. The--whatever that was before.] You're just taking me somewhere to get rid of me, aren't you?
You were always going to get rid of me, like Jayce! I'm just... baggage to you. [He starts twisting, fighting like an animal caught in a snare.] Something's... I can't get it out of my head!
[Clarity, warm and sweet. Then he's frozen again, full of madness.]
I'm not going to die again! I don't want to die again!
[He raises the staff with his other hand. Because he's going to fucking MUG Lucien with it. Sorry to Lucien that he is full of stupid so easily.]
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besides, he's never thought viktor sounded anything but sincere. that's always been his problem. he believes what he says. of course he wants power, power is only a means to an end, a lever on the rock that sits on the back of the downtrodden. but viktor does want to make this world a better place. it's simply that to him, it would be better without lucien in it.
the staff will connect, lucien has a harder time dodging since he's down one eye - glancing off a horn and sending him stumbling briefly sideways. but even injured like he is, he's still quick and deadly - grabbing the staff to try and yank it out of viktor's hands and throwing it off to the side, and lashing out like a snake to wrap a hand around the front of viktor's throat and pushing him back. not holding him hard enough to choke, but tight enough to make a point - the claw of his thumb pressing tightly up against the bottom of his jaw. ]
Is this really how you want this to go?
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He stumbles, trying to make his leg work in the back-pedaling, held up for a second by Lucien's arm. Both of his hands grip Lucien's wrist. The chihuahua shaking he's doing is mostly from the bitter cold and the drop off of adrenaline, but it's happening.]
No... [It's a strained whisper. His expression is grimaced; he doesn't try to throw a fit to get out of the hold like he had a few seconds ago.] I can hear it. You can hear it, right? The voice.
[It's a voice, right? Or is it... himself?]
...I'm sorry. I hate this place. [The forest.] I just want us to leave.
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if it's not him, they'll discard him, move onto someone more malleable, easier to guide, and he does not intend to give up an ounce of control. (he doesn't want to be the one left standing. he's been the one left standing before and every time it breaks something that feels so unfixable that soon there will be no choice left but the only choice there ever was: nothing but a world that bears all the same scars he has)
but that's the mistake he's made before, isn't it? every time he's been on the cusp of breaking free of the concerns of petty mortality, that voice has made him waver, stand back from the brink, stay a blade. let someone in too close who should never have been there in the first place. viktor is right, there is a voice, and he's going to prove it wrong.
the hand around viktor's throat loosens, cupping the side of his neck gently for a moment - before he moves to grab him tightly by the wrist, bringing his other hand down to slam into his elbow and hopefully send viktor bodily to the ground. can't cast shit if you've got a broken arm? ]
Afraid it's just business, friend.
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There is a dream somewhere of an open land of rolling hills covered in nothing but patches of clover, split by a little stream, sitting beneath a sunny and blue sky. And they are there together, Viktor healthy, with no screws, no brace, no bad leg, no illness, nothing but spindly working hands; and Lucien, unmarred, no eyes, no tattoos, no jewelry, not even any scars, nothing but calloused mandolin-playing fingers. They're there together. That's the dream just outside the forest, them sitting with their feet in the too cold water lying under the sun with clover in their hair.
Pain splits his skull from the back to the front, making his vision go white. He's not even sure, at first, it sounds like Lucien has snapped a branch. His legs drop out from beneath him; the book inside his jacket tumbles out below him and falls open. His arm won't do anything his brain tells it to do, not from the elbow down. His groan is a cross between agony and nausea.
He can't cast shit with a broken arm? Think again, bitch.
He slaps his other hand on the open page of the book, and his lips slur, quickly, the incantations, all garbled in another, elevated language. The edges of the book light up, and ozone fills the air. The hair on Lucien's head begins to stand, his skin prickles. Lucien has maybe two seconds to start to flee. The sky, where it is above them, lights up like the sun. I'm not rolling because he can't control it anyway and we can't die!!! He can only muster two shots. Lightning streaks down, hitting the ground nearby--one--another screams in the strangest, highest pitch as it smashes into the ground between Lucien's feet. A web of electricity leaps out, a net capturing the bottom of Lucien's legs and riding his body all the way up and out his mouth.]
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