• Closed • Bows and Arrows

The capital city of the of Rynmere, here is seated the only King in Idalos.

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Quio
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Bows and Arrows

Sun Aug 21, 2016 3:25 am

25th of Saun, Arc 716
late morning

"This is a bad idea," Yana --no, Fara, he had to remember, she called herself Fara now-- growled at him as they stalked through the streets.

The empty streets. This part of the city was deserted, most everybody locked up tight in their houses or shops. And for good reason.

The city was being attacked. And Quio had not found Hart.

He needed to find him, now.

Smoke was everywhere, the smell of tar thick, choking. It was hard to see, the streets blurred with grey clouds of ash and soot. He already had a hard enough time figuring out where he was in the city; now he was hopeless, helpless, he couldn't even breathe correctly through this mess, and really he should have been indoors somewhere. Not here. Yana --Fara-- was right. She was right, of course. But he couldn't help himself. He couldn't stop.

Hart was lost somewhere and until Quio found him, he could only assume the worst.

"Hart!" he called, voice rough from smoke inhalation, and Fara hissed at him, "Shut it!"

"Hart!" he called again. "Seriously," she said, "This is a bad idea."

"Hart!" Quio cried, and Fara snarled, "Honestly, you're just asking to be murdered. If you won't shut your mouth, I'll--"

Kill you myself, she probably meant to say. The arrow took that moment to fall down from the sky.

Quio was on his knees. Pain. Pain. He didn't know what had happened. Fara was above him, pulling at his arm, telling him something, but he couldn't hear her. His back. No. It was his shoulder. He reached behind him and his fingers came back red with false blood. Blood. He looked at his hand in disbelief. He heard Fara say something, distantly, something like, "Oh for fuck's sake." He craned his head to look behind him and light was curling from his back into the smoke. Bleeding. He was actually bleeding. Life light.

He felt his body go cold, and then he was on the ground.

When he awoke he had been pulled into a side alley and Yana was on top of him, trying to drag the arrow from his flesh. He screamed and she shoved her bloody hand over his face. "Shh!" she said. Her eyes were darting everywhere. He heard something, footsteps. Someone ran by in the smoke, a flash of panicked eyes, and was gone. The distant thundering of the assault on the walls.

"Yana," he said, and she twisted her mouth and said, "I can't do this. Dammit. You need help."

"Surgeon," he said roughly, and she dragged him up to his feet.

"Hold still," she ordered, "And don't. Scream." And she was yanking his coat off, down his arms, and the shaft of the arrow caught at it and the world went grey and hummed. "It's off! It's off!" she was saying, and had the coat pressed around the arrow, around the wound. The light of him, the life light of him, what amounted to blood for his people, dimmed with the pressure. He knew she wasn't covering the wound to stop the bleeding. She was doing it to hide his light.

"Come on," she said, and they stumbled through the streets. "Where did that arrow even come from?" she asked, coughing, and all he could do was shake his head. He thought maybe he gasped out, "Luck."

Then he couldn't speak for the pain. He couldn't catch his breath. Every movement felt like it tugged at the arrow embedded in his flesh. He felt hot and cold at once. He didn't know where they were.

Yana had a better feel for cities than he did. She had a better feel for land, period. They were walking, then he blinked and they had stopped. They were in front of a door. She was hammering on it. "Surgeon!" she yelled, "Help! Open up!" When no one came to the door, she muttered, "It has to be one of these. I'm sure of it." They moved to the next door down, the next house. "Surgeon! We need help! Now!"

"Come on," Yana said, because no one was opening their doors. "Come on you stupid human idiots, come on."

"Open up!" she screamed at the next house, and then, "We have money!" She choked again on her next inhale, and snarled at the sky, wiping at her face, the smoke smudged there, black.

Then at once she sort of shifted, tilted, or maybe it was Quio who did, and he was sitting on the steps of the house, panting, and Yana was over him spitting out profanities. "No, no, no," she said, and for once she didn't sound angry. She sounded desperate. "Get up, get up!"
"Speaking in Rakahi"
"Speaking in Common"
"Speaking in Ulehi"
Last edited by Quio on Wed Dec 13, 2017 4:14 pm, edited 4 times in total. word count: 840
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Alistair
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Bows and Arrows

Mon Sep 05, 2016 6:35 pm

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OOC: Sorry for taking so incredibly long. I've been terrible to my thread partners lately. We've been rushing to do plots to try and wrap up the civil war before Saun ends which has really made it difficult for me to do the threads less central to the war. However, I'm going to say screw that because I only have to do a few more posts for the civil war, most likely. Also, curveball incoming: Alistair came into Andaris on the 25th by means of a Compression portal (the new magic Rupturing), his method of escaping death during a civil-war related battle. Just so my post doesn't confuse ya.

The man was panting, clearing his throat. He was having a difficult time relaxing, his body up in arms as the stress - physical and mental - started to take hold. Earlier today, the man was being escorted by Marcus Krome. They were heading for Andaris and were expected to reinforce Veljorn's army in taking the capital of Rynmere. Alistair, however, had no such interest. He had only joined Marcus' group to infiltrate them and seek information, among other things. He'd given Faith to Elyna as a form of assurance, to help a relation between Venora and Burhan bloom despite Alistair's odds with Veljorn. The Coven, to aid Alistair, had attacked and maimed the forces of Marcus and had resulted in the Baron of Krome being injured, with most of his retinue laying dead.

It was a bloody morning. It had only been escaped by ducking into the forestry with Duncan, finding an empty clearing, and using the conduit to craft a Compression portal that could close the distance to the capital. But it was unbelievably difficult, a long distance that he had never jumped before. He was quite sure that he was not facing the consequences of burning, but more magical exertion could result in them taking hold. He could hardly focus, the feeling of fatigue overcoming him.

He wanted to rest. He needed to. Duncan had already gone home, whereas Alistair was still roaming the streets. Always trying to ensure that everything went okay, always trying to be prepared. He was looking to buy provisions for the war, supplies, all that. However, the fear of being sieged had skyrocketed the prices and he was left to find contentedness in what he had.

The man returned home, defeated, tired, anxious. He wanted nothing more than for Duncan to come find him and for the two of them to overlook Cyrene Bay, so gracefully named after Alistair's ancestor from long ago, the first Venora. Instead, he was left to watch fools scurry through the streets as the city had entered a state of fear and panic that he'd never before seen . . . except for perhaps when Ellasin made her appearances to lower ranking groups within the Coven. The emotions were the same: anxiety, fear, utter dismay. The depression of this city had only influenced his distaste for it in its current state. Soon, he would have to make another portal and leave this place. Lead his army. Reinforce the Kingdom.

As he finally made his way back to his shit-stained hovel, the sound of yelling caught his attention. Surgeon! a girl screamed. Open up! He swore he'd heard the same line at least a dozen times in the distance. We have money! The man sighed, closing his eyes for a moment to calm himself. Regaining his composure. He knew he wouldn't be able to resist whatever operation this was, considering how desperate it sounded.

Alistair was a master doctor - a renowned medical professional within Rynmere, hosting one of the most successful hospitals in Venora. He had a reputation to upkeep, one that would be smeared if he merely ignored the screaming woman and whatever companion she evidently sought help for. This was a time of war, which meant opportunities to be renowned for your good deeds.

He would at least pretend as much, and approach the shrieking woman - sounding like a shrill-tongued waif in his eyes - and stop her with a hand to the shoulder and a serious expression. "Woman," he called her, little formality involved. He forced her to be calm, applying pressure to her shoulder to stop her anxious movements. "I am one of the best in the field," he said not so humbly. "Can you please be calm and ask me what it is that you need?" She looked absolutely dandy. It was probably someone else, then, he imagined. Who? His eyes looked around. The lightheaded dizzy spells set in. This was going to be a difficult day to survive.
word count: 790
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Quio
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Bows and Arrows

Wed Sep 07, 2016 6:36 pm

There was a shadow over him, two, and for a moment he was lost in his mind. Nulliem. The nulliem. They had come--

And then he blinked and his vision cleared.

It was just Yana. Yana, and a man he didn't know. The man had reached out and touched his sister's shoulder; she ducked out from under his grasp. "You?" she asked, incredulous, looking at the man up and down, and even to Quio's eyes the man looked war-torn. But then Yana just shook her head. "It doesn't matter, just help me get him somewhere safe and get the arrow out of him, that's all I need."

"And you," she said to Quio, "Up." She grabbed at him, and he knew it was time to move again. He gathered his feet beneath him, breathing hard. The arrow snagged and sang with pain.

"I can stand," he gasped out, while the world continued to tilt around him. Yana's hands were digging into his arm trying to keep him steady. He reached out a hand and almost touched the man, thought better of it, and leaned against the nearest wall instead. "I'm okay," he said.

"Just shut up and get moving," Yana commanded. "And don't fall down again."

Quio looked down at his feet. He shuffled forward, trying to make sure he didn't stumble. Time blurred; when he looked back up they were in some sort of house, or office, or something. He was sitting. The dagger at his belt was gone; it was in Yana's hands. She was looking at the pale-faced surgeon with intensity. "So just pull the arrow out," she was saying, and the dagger gleamed in her hands. "You will need to pull hard. Trust me." She looked the man up and down again, face grim. "Prepare yourself."

Then she had Quio turn his back, and without ado she removed the wadded-up coat from his shoulder.

The arrow stuck messily out of him, and the light in the room changed slightly as he bled his life energy freely into the air. Quio closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to see. He was already feeling queasy enough. "Shirt off," he heard his sister order, and he fumbled to remove it, and had to have help. She yanked it unceremoniously from his shoulders, causing him to blanch with pain.

Then his back was exposed-- no, it was worse than that: what he was was exposed. "Yludih," Yana said brusquely by way of explanation once the shirt was removed, and Quio was loathe to hear the word uttered aloud. This was not good. He felt sick. Someone in the city knowing what he was--

--and suddenly Yana holding the dagger in her hands, staring at the doctor, made sense to him. "No," he said, forcing his eyes open to glare at her. He was still panting around the pain. He struggled to keep himself fully present. "Yana, no."

"This is your doing," she snarled. "Looking around for your little Biqaj--"

"Just stop," he said. To the surgeon: "I'm sorry. We won't hurt you. Just-- if you could-- the arrow--"

He steeled himself and looked back. Over his shoulder Quio could see the wound, glowing with pulses of silver and yellow and pinkish light. To all appearances the injury itself looked like a regular wound, pierced flesh and false blood. He was bleeding like a normal person would, a red stream streaking down his back. But the wound was lit from within, his true blood the light pouring out. He quickly looked away from that, squeamish, swallowing hard, trying not to faint.

Yana was still giving instructions. "After the arrow's removed, you need to wrap the wound immediately. Tight. As tight as you can make it. Don't worry about his breathing. You hear me?" She gave the surgeon a piercing look, then turned her face away from him, towards Quio. "This is going to hurt," Yana warned, and he gritted his teeth and clenched his hands into fists.

"Okay," he said in a small voice. "I'm ready."
"Speaking in Rakahi"
"Speaking in Common"
"Speaking in Ulehi"
word count: 722
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