it's a bad, bad ritual [ open ]

[respired]

CHARACTERS: Koltira, perhaps you
DATE: Anytime during the Oska stay
WARNINGS: blood'n'guts
SUMMARY: FRENZY, for the very last time



i. the woods - frenzy;

[ Last year, a desert. An endless, barren expanse, broken only with patches of scrub and unfortunate bandit camps. Now: trees, rivers, shadows. Some wildlife, but hardly enough to satisfy. Koltira ranges here and there, cutting a rotted path through the underbrush: trees smoke and decay in his wake, their bark melting into a surreal, acidic syrup. The forest is not well populated, but what he finds he does not leave intact. A gutted deer, a wingless bird. Blood smears the grass, darkens the moss, though most of it his own--the result of clawing, frantically, at his own body, an effort to satisfy the curse with some kind of violence, even if only against himself.

He is both hypervigilant and completely unreachable in this state. If he senses movement, he attacks swiftly, without prejudice or hesitation. Sword drawn, jaw clenched, rage unending. ]

ii. aftermath - lake;

[ Eventually, whether through time or some other, more efficient intervention, Koltira collapses by the edge of the lake. He presses his cheek to the banks, heaving, his nerves still shot through with pain. But he's got his mind back. His wounds ooze, turning the sand to sludge. He stares ahead, dull-eyed, and he knows one thing with stark clarity: this cannot go on.

And, no matter what he has to do, it won't. ]

Comments

[secondnature]

[All this time, Koltira's been holding himself back. Keith feels the ice prickle up his arm to hold it in place, and he stumbles back, trying to slam his arm into a tree to free it from the very cold attack. He's grunting all the while, his breathing audible as he tries to set himself straight.

He decides to realign his motivation here. Give Koltira something to chase, but he knows that he can't risk being hit by Byfrost. He might die if that happens. He just has to hope he's quick enough to manage it.]

I'm not going anywhere. I'm here to help. [And he wants to help the best way he knows how.]

[respired]

[ You can't help. That's what he'd say, if he even could. But he's reached the limit of his coherence, and instead of replying, he simply attacks again. This time it's a lunge, an effort both to slice at Keith's side and to tackle him to the forest floor. Koltira's fast, his body glowing sickly green, but his movements are not steady. Is it the madness of frenzy? Some remnant of self trying to pull on the reins? Either way, he is not inescapable. Not yet. ]

[secondnature]

[At least he came out here fully armored and ready. Keith refuses to let Koltira harm him too much. And it's with a swift movement that he manages to call upon the jets at his back so he can propel upward. He's smart enough in moments like this to play tag, so to speak, but he still feels Koltira collide with his legs naturally as he moves to escape. With the jets propelling him but not necessarily able to throw him up into the air or anything, he tries his best to kick off of Koltira, rather than be dragged down.]

[respired]

[ Koltira staggers back, clearly surprised by Keith's sudden propulsion--but undaunted. As Keith creates distance, Koltira throws out a whip of shadowy energy, aimed to wrap around Keith's throat and yank him right on back. He has very little conscious attachment to what he's doing right now; as far as he's concerned, Keith is a moving sack of warm blood, and that movement has to stop. ]

[secondnature]

[Did he even know that Koltira could do that? His brain tries to connect this experience with the knowledge provided by the action, but it doesn't get very far. Once the tendril is around his throat, he can only do so much to yank away, trying his best to twist, turn, and eventually swing his bayard down on the shadow itself.]

[respired]

[ This does not accomplish much: the shadow is only tangible insofar as it's clutching Keith's neck, slicing it just causes it to immediately reform. As Koltira yanks on the tether, icy winds kick up around his body, such that if Keith is pulled in close, he'll feel an immediate, paralyzing chill. ]

Run fast.

[ It's all he can heave out. ]

[secondnature]

[The stubborn (and self-sacrificing, never forget) side of Keith wants to stay. He wants to be the punching bag for Koltira. He'd promise him afterward that he wouldn't matter, even if he'd be down with broken legs. Someone could heal him. He's sure of it. But that same part wages a war with the crippling terror running through him thanks to the icy winds. What else is bound to come?

He can't promise he's fine with some injuries if he can't even live. That much is apparent to him.

Keith's feet slam into the ground as the jets on his back begin to power up so he can begin to drag himself away. He doesn't know if it'll work. But he's trying—Koltira's words seem like an attempt at a warning.

Or to play with him. It could be both.]