[Scalvoris Mountains] Nothing lasts forever

[Ent]

While Faith collected her sword and Padraig scrambled to his feet but seemingly back peddling gave the necromancer initiative. The distance between Faith and Padraig was not easy to traverse at high speed due to snow ice and rock which meant that the bloodless man moved quickly on Padraig closing the gap between them with a flurry of attacks. The crimson blade dancing through the air as if it were some kind of red lightening.

To Faith his haste to attack would leave a flank open to her, however, she would never make it to Padraig's side as before she could do anything she would feel the talons grasp her. The screech of the enormowl ringing out as it lifted her off her feet and flew up into the low lying clouds. As Faith found her bearings she would see it another bird seemingly in pursuit of the one holding her, whether she would recognise that as the one she had met with Padraig prior in the low light was entirely dependent on her own memory.

So as Faith flew above and Padraig was engaged in a deadly dance once again the beast would begin to writhe and throw out its limbs without clear targets. The fire seemed to have thrown it into a senseless frenzy as it suddenly rolled, doing a 180 from where it had been in an attempt to put out the fire that was quickly covering its body. Unfortunately for Pash this would take the torch from his view and reach as it was smothered beneath the spray of snow from the action.

Though not all was lost as the beasts movements would finally reveal what could be a weakness, a recently stitched up wound traced the monster's exposed belly. Both Pash and Kali would have the chance to see this and likely realise this would be the position of the well they had both hoped to find. Kali would also succeed in shooting the eye of the snowbeast, proceeding to anger it further as a fierce squawk would escape its jaws. Along with a lashing tail directed at Kali that would do much the same as it had to Faith knocking her from her feet and sending her rolling through the snow. It seemed her screaming at the beast had caught its attention.

Kali was not quite as lucky as Faith though and would find herself colliding with a large rock, her back being first to hit the solid surface hidden in the snow. The air would be forced from her lungs and along with this would come the neck ache caused by the whiplash. Some solace could be taken in the fact that there was no blood and her bow lay next to her in the cold white powder.

Alexander's onslaught would continue through this as Padraig would come to realise there was no torch to take hold of and that his fiancé was not coming to his side. His defence could not last forever and he would soon tire if he did not begin to fight properly back against the aggressor who came at him relentlessly sending blows from all manner of angles and with huge amounts of force. It was a miracle he had not taken a blow yet but this would not last for long if he did not take up a more aggressive stance himself.

Now Pash was alone for a moment against the beast and to reach its belly he would have to get past its wildly thrashing tail and limbs, sharp talons threatening to gut him or worse lop off his head if he was not careful. This would take a careful but quick approach if he wished to get to the stitched wound before the monster moved again.

[Faith Augustin]

Faith was not a logical woman, in very many ways. She firmly believed that she had been born loving Padraig Augustin and more than anything she wanted to be useful to him, to protect him and make him happy. As she saw Alexander move to attack him, of all people, Faith's blood boiled. When he kidnapped her, he hurt them. When his blow to her face left her bruised, he hurt them. The fear which Padraig had felt throughout this ordeal was not acceptable to her, the pain it had caused him in his own right and as a result of her own fear and pain was too much. And now? Now this undead monstrosity who dared to compare his twisted relationship with their love was attacking him?

She flung herself forward, fully intending to attack Alexander's flank in an all-out sort of attack.

Yet, she never got there. Faith was moving with such force, such determined forward momentum that she didn't get a chance to try and dodge or defend herself from the talons of the enormowl and, once again, she was suddenly enveloped by the grasping talons as it grabbed her and flew. It moved with incredible speed, lifting her again and the adrenaline of the moment combined with the fear of heights Faith had and she screamed in abject, exhausted, all encompassing, frustrated terror.

Damnit, she inwardly cursed herself as she desperately tried to not distract Padraig from his fight. Yet, she couldn't hide the cold horror she felt from him, as much as she might want to. They were connected by Qylios' mark and Famula's. He knew what she was feeling and she knew in that trill that she had to push it down, had to push it away before it harmed them both. For the first time since he had told her that he loved her, since he had opened the door to her in fact, on that snowing Vhalar night, Faith pushed her emotions away completely. Not a little, not placed in her hands to keep control but in that moment Faith was faced with a choice. Right now, she either fell apart completely and descended into hysteria or she utilised the techniques she had been taught during her training. To not feel pain, to not allow herself to have any sense of self at all but rather, to simply be in the moment.

Faith was a passionate, mercurial creature in trial by trial life. For all that she showed a very controlled and calm exterior, the bonds which she and Padraig shared thanks to divine marks and the life they shared meant that he knew the real her. They had worked hard together, in those early trials and even now, to get the real her to the surface; arcs of slavery had taken its toll. Every day, she had doubts and fears, moments of not feeling like she could or should make decisions. He knew. He knew them all and he lived them with her. He was the only one who saw the scars and her mind reeled for a brief bit because she knew what she had to do, yet she didn't want him to feel this. Not this and not from her.

But they had to survive. He had to, she had to. They had to. Everything else, they could overcome.

So, Faith closed her eyes and she focused; just for a trill, she went back there. Standing in front of the wall, toes not touching it, with hands laced behind her head. It was how they taught them to ignore the pain from the whip, to accept that she had no control that she was not permitted emotions. As the Enormowl's talons dug into her shoulders, she recalled what the Owner had said to her. To them. That he chose for blood to spill, not tears. He determined which spilled, not them, for every part of them was his. Until the lesson was learned, he would teach it again and again. She had learned it and quickly, her internal discipline allowing her to switch off her emotions, her sense of self worth and to bury it deep inside her, focusing instead on the Owners, on what they needed and wanted. So, he had been right. Blood had spilled then, not tears. Thirteen arcs later, Faith utilised her discipline and self control and she did the same because if she did not then she would descend into hysteria here and now. So, she chose. She chose to do this, to repress her feelings now, knowing that she would pay for this later but there needed to be a later for them. This was how it had to be.

Ignoring the pain in her shoulders where it grabbed her, unmindful of herself, Faith lifted her hands and wrapped them around the Enormowl's legs. Then, she burned its blood, boiling it so that the creature felt a sudden and enormous pain, she hoped. She wouldn't let go, but would pull at it, trying to get it to land if she could. If it was necessary, she would pull herself up and grab bits of feathers, tug at a wing or whatever it took in order to get it towards the ground to the point where she could survive the fall, if that was the best she could get. Ideally, she'd drop the damn thing and use it's body as a shield or to soften her landing. But she was getting back down there and helping him and that, frankly, was that.

Off Topic

Apologies for the long and largely self-indulgent post. I normally wouldn't go into this sort of depth of her internal workings, but Pad over there can feel what she's feeling, has flashes of what she's thinking, so I thought I should.

[Pash Raj'oriq]

Cold fingers dug into snow instead of grasping the wood he expected, and Pash exhaled a steamy hiss of frustration and pain. No more torch. He wavered on his feet, the gash across his ribs a harsh motivator, and drew a dagger instead, the snowbeast angry and thrashing and wild now that it was on fire. He kept a stormy grey watch on its movements, looking for his chance to step inward again, to make his charge.

Kali’s arrow found its mark, but the tall Biqaj didn’t get a chance to shout in appreciation, the undead creature’s tail swinging again as it squawked its suffering. She’d gotten its attention with her foolish shouting, though Pash understood her fear, the only warmth he felt by now was his silver lifeblood as it seeped outward and into his clothes. His lover wasn’t quick enough, and the beast’s tail tossed her over the snow and against a rock—

“Kali!”

That was his opening. There!

—and as much as his conscience tugged at him like the tide to turn and rush to Kali’rial’s side to make sure she was alright, conscious at least, he couldn’t. The fear that illuminated his tangle with its vibrant threads consumed his resolve for a trill, for Pash was a creature woven almost entirely of sound and feeling. It was overwhelming for an aching breath, aware that now was not the time to let his emotions cripple his judgment in a time of need. He’d done that already, too often, much to the detriment of his family, himself, and those he loved. Ah, love. Those threads brighter still, thick and corded together in the tapestry of his being, a stronger foundation in his tangle than fear. Those feelings, strummed, were a warm light brighter than any torch sputtering in the snow. That was why he did. That was what mattered. The Empath had once convinced himself there were things he couldn’t feel, shouldn’t, wouldn’t, if only because of the trouble and pain that they could cause—mostly for his selfish self, to be honest. But he’d just been stupid. The dark breathlessness of the jungle had brought clarity, the sharp focus of Kali’rial’s hurt aboard The Muse had brought truth.

Here, in the cold, here was focus.

Purpose. Direction.

Forward.

But not for himself. No. Others needed him and others mattered. And so he moved to do. Whatever it took.

As the undead abomination stood in its flaming anger and mindless frustration, recovering its footing from lashing the dark-haired Sev’ryn, Pash scrambled forward, dagger in one hand, pain searing his singular focus. In the practice circle of his childhood, there were times when they’d spar against multiple opponents. It required an awareness of one’s surroundings, for a foot or an elbow could come from any direction. He thought of his burly uncle, the unpredictable ex-pirate, and how Yarik enjoyed finding his blind spots and tossing him into the sand because of them. The tail was his wildcard in the snow, and the snow beast’s claws and beak were his faster opponents in a circle that wouldn’t just leave him bruised and battered like sparring in his youth. No, this was a much deadlier game. Maimed or dead were the consequences for failure, and yet the truth was that Pash was willing to pay the price to get everyone else off the mountain.

He’d rather not die, of course, for underneath the fear and the pain grew a bright and furious love he longed to nurture to fruition. He’d rather not be maimed, of course, for he’d be little use to the friends he cared about and little use to the Immortals he’d found favor with. Thus he moved with what caution he could muster, gritting his teeth and reaching deep into the leaking depths of himself for the kind of strength that honored Zanik, that made great stories told fireside after a good meal.

Low dodges were easy—negativa under a swiping claw, a bend to the side to avoid the clacking hungry snap of a beak. A roll in the trampled snow if necessary. Quick in the sharp focus of pain and looking only forward, Pash had always been faster than his bulkier, stronger cousin, who was most often the antagonist of his youth. Speed had always been his friend. The tall Biqaj rushed to weave past the thrashing everything, attempting to ignore the hindrance he felt from the cold and extra layers he wasn’t used to, by boots, and by the oozing gash the snow beast had already marked him as prey with.

With the comfort of familiar movements that had become muscle memory over arcs of practice, fear and pain were a powerful motivator when there was only the loud rhythm of his rapid pulse thrumming in his pointed ears to set the rhythm. He had to keep moving, dodging inward until he charged past the undead monster’s defenses, icepick grip on his dagger set for stabbing, wanting to shove it into the top of the stitches and drag downwards with what strength he had, hoping to open that which had been sewn tight and perhaps stick a free hand into whatever rottenness he braced himself would be inside. He needed to find the source, even though he knew this left him vulnerable if he ended up elbow-deep in the beast’s belly, dagger or hand.

If he got in there, he was digging out what he could—that damned object that had to be powering the beast somehow was his only goal, stabbing, smashing, ripping free, whatever he could manage—whether he was crushed or bitten or clawed in the process became the farthest worry from his focused mind.

[Padraig]

[img]/gallery/image ... ge_id=5045[/img]

More swiftly than Faith could scramble back to his side, the opponent descended on Padraig with a furious series of blows. So swift was the man's blade that in that bit, the scholar could only focus on holding them off, blocking and pushing them aside only to face yet another round. But each encounter, blade to blade, bought Faith more time to reach him, so that they could, once again, fight as one.

It was the sudden appearance of the enormowl, the snatching her up off the ground and lifting her up that caught him by surprise. It shouldn't have, but Padraig's heart filled with dread. Divide and conquer must be the bastard's goal, but the scholar was more concerned for her safety than his ability to hold his own. What good a future, if not for her? But he couldn't allow those thoughts to distract him. He might even rely on the other enormowl, the one he'd brought with him, to interfere on her behalf. He could feel her presence however, her strength, and knew she'd fight with everything in her and more.

He tended to defend for Faith's sake but advance for his own. So having failed to find a lit torch and with Faith temporarily out of reach, Padraig called on Qylios' gift that had come with considerable blade skills, and changed tact in the blink of an eye. Fury, determination and love for Faith drove him forward, an attempt to drive his opponent backwards with a flurry of blocks and strikes. A single wound had healed quickly and the bleeding had ceased, thanks to an unholy way of being. But multiple wounds at once, enough to overcome an unnatural way of mending? That was his goal. And if he could manage it, he was intent on slicing off the man's forearm. The one used to wield his own blade.

[Kali'rial]

As her arrow flew true and pierced one beady eye, Kali'rial saw finally the spot that Pash had been calling out, the place on the beast that was clearly stitched shut on it's underbelly. It would be her focus now, just as it was clearly the focus for the injured and stupidly brave Biqaj. Drawing another arrow she grinned.

"Take that you ugly abom-" The words barely left her mouth when the beasts tail caught her hard, throwing the Sev'ryn back in a sharp arc of flight and snow, to smack hard against a rocky outcrop.

Always with the rocks.

The huntress immediately felt the sharp pain of being winded and struggled for breath as the world around her prickled with dark spots, her body trying to succumb to the lack of air and hard blow.

Inhale...don't pass out...

Finally the spasm in her lungs released and she gasped loudly, back and neck a devastating cacophony of pain. Kali groaned, before her blue eyes flew wide at the sight of the bird-beast, remembering very rapidly she'd screamed at it and successfully drawn its ire. Scrambling through bitterly cold snow, the brunette moved towards her bow, ignoring the agony in her neck as she stumbled to her feet in a half run. Her head spun, but even so the Sevir knew she had to do something. Pash had moved, openly bleeding, under the beast towards the belly.

"Here you...stupid bird!" The southerner yelled breathlessly, waving her hands and watching for appendages as she danced around to keep it focused on her.

Whatever it took to let the Biqaj get his blade in it's guts.

Somewhere in her peripheral, Kali knew bad things were happening for Faith and Padraig, but she couldn't loose focus on the beast. Not until it was no longer a threat. Immortals, she hoped they were okay.

[Ent]

Kali'rial had been lucky not to end up seriously hurt after she had been thrown into the rock at such force, it was close a to a miracle she had managed to stay conscious. In fact, she would find herself rather concussed, wobbly on her feet and unable to properly judge distances. Therefore her actions were risky as she once again tried to draw the beasts attention using all her abilities to remain focused and able to dodge the flailing limbs that came her way.

Pash would be the luckiest person on that mountain in that moment as he too beginning to dizzy from blood loss and exhaustion would find a gap in the beasts defences. This gap gave him the chance he needed to get to them sealed gash in the beasts abdomen, the thick wire that held the flesh together difficult to cut but with a hard pull it would break and the wound open. This would reveal to Pash what they were looking for, a large gem that was lodged between the beasts large chest muscles.

With a hard pull, followed by a screech from the monster the stone would come free. The creature would begin to slow in its movements, like its life force was being removed from it but not yet completely dead not until the well in Pash's hand was destroyed. Then the beast would be truly dead and they could move to help their companions or to help one another as they were both injured, Pash's silver blood already staining the snow along with the red of the beasts.

So as Faith began to work to get free of the bird, suddenly she would feel it an influx of Padraig's emotions, his need to defend her and he too would feel her. The determination and fear mixed into a bad decision to get herself down and back to his side. Their love for one another breaching time and space as if they could feel one another's presence within the, a gift from Vri in this time of need as they became bonded for eternity their souls joined by the love that had brought them together.

Still they would have no time to ponder it as they prepared to take on their opponents, Faith struggling with the bird as they flew high above the snow and suddenly boiling its blood. With a squawk the bird released her and began to kick its legs at her as she tried to hold on. Unfortunately she would be unable to keep hold as its claw struck her shoulder, slashing the already bruised flesh slightly and another talon catching her arm and drawing blood as she was dropped.

The other bird which had been in pursuit would then catch her, lucky that it had been close behind as it would be what saved her life. Though, the creature was protective and keeping her alive was its main goal so instead of to Padraig it flew higher up the mountain landing with her atop a cliff above the rest of the group.

Padraig had gotten the idea now, he could not spend his whole time defending, it just wouldn't work. However, now he was fighting right, taking the initiative and stealing it straight from Alexander as the flurries came out at tremendous speed and with great power. Alexander staggered at first before attempting to block and counter the blows but they came in too fast succession. He blocked one strike, then a second but the third was just too much. A slash across the ribs was his punishment but he only grimaced and let out a hiss as he countered the fourth strike able to land his own gash on Padraig's left shoulder.

Still the attacks kept coming and Alexander kept retreating taking another strike to his thigh and then to his forearm. He took another blow to his leg. It seemed his only option was to avoid, blocking and countering was not working in this moment. So with a quick role he went to avoid the next attack from the scientist, managing to get to his side and role to his right rear flank managing to also place a small cut on the mans calf.

"Not bad for a professor." He chuckled as he attempted to bide time, his body beginning the healing process once again. "Shame she's gone, now we can see your real strength when she is not their to aid you and I must say, I am impressed. He kept his distance as best he could, trying to remain out of reach of Padraig's blade but ready to fight. "Come now, its okay to meet an equal once in a while. Many people have faced you but I am special but you can tell that." He raised a finger and made a motion to invite the man to come for him, a basic taunt as old as combat itself.

[Faith Augustin]

Faith knew, before she knew anything else and at an entirely instinctual level, that she had to get to Padraig. For so long now, she had believed that she was free, that she was more than she had been told in Athart. More than had been beaten into her, she had believed it. She had believed that she had not lost that which had been whipped and beaten and abused out of her. For so long now, or for what seemed like such a long time, she had believed that she had won. That she might, just might, be able to be a person who was useful.

But then, there was this.

There was here.

There was him.

Everything, literally, everything Faith had done had failed. She had failed to walk down the street, failed to fight off kidnappers. Then, once she had woken up, she had failed to fight the men who carried her, to reason with the man who held her, to escape his clutches. Padraig, Pash and Kali had needed to come and save her and in that, too, she had been next to useless. Was that what she was? Here, in the freezing mountains, Faith was starting to believe it all over again. Pushing the emotions away, shoving them out of her until later. Much later. If ever.

As she worked to get rid of those emotions, Faith suddenly felt them, but they weren't hers. What was this? As she had the sudden bombardment of another's feelings, Faith recognised it for what it was. It was him. She could feel him with her and Faith fought, her efforts doubled by the love of the man who even now wielded a sword against a mad man to protect her. She burned the blood of the bird and it let her go, but she knew that it might happen and she held on.

It wasn't enough. She felt a sudden pain in her shoulder as an enormous talon slashed against her and Faith bit back the exclamation which accompanied it, but then as the second talon caught her arm, she felt the blood start to flow.

As Faith started to fall, she saw the ground start to rise towards and she felt fear for her life. It was a new experience for her, because her life had always been so meaningless. But it was not, not any more and Faith wanted to live, but her fear of heights combined with her desire to not upset anyone and the cry of pure terror caught in her throat. Faith realised in that moment that she was going to die, that her body would shatter on the ground beneath her and she prayed that Padraig didn't see it, that he found another love and he lived, truly lived his life.

Yet, another owl caught her and Faith was momentarily stunned. How? How had she gone from one thing to another and nothing that she did made a difference to this? As the creature soared, taking her to a clifftop, Faith felt terror grip her. They were already high up, she was already terrified and this was too much. Just too much. It took her and there, she was atop a cliff and looking down at what was happening.

Frustration then got replaced by terror. From her earliest memory Faith had been afraid of heights. They had trained her to not show it in Athart, Jamal had used it as a punishment yet still when Tristan had taken up to the Crows' Nest on U'frek's ship, Faith had been unable to stop shaking. Now, she had been caught by Enormowls, taken into the clouds, dropped, dived, caught again, dropped and now deposited on the cliff face. She hadn't slept or eaten in two trials, her face was bruised and her lip split and now blood was exiting from her shoulder and her arm.

Faith whimpered, terror gripping her heart.

Yet he was there. He was there. Tears poured down her face and she took in great gulping sobs of fury, anguish and frustration combined into an emotion which more or less deadened her. All she wanted to do, every instinct she had was to curl up on the floor here and hide, but she couldn't. He was there, he was fighting this man who had hurt her. Every cut any of them had, every ounce of tiredness, every bruise and bump and inconvenience, that was on her and Faith couldn'tbe useless. She had been useless, utterly useless, throughout this whole thing and now? Now she was just useless some more.

So, the terrified former slave sobbed as she slowly, oh so slowly, moved to the edge of the cliff. She couldn't look. If she looked, she'd freeze and, in that moment, she would just be completely useless. So she lowered herself; sobbing and crying and bleeding all in one moment and not aware of any of them. Trying to persuade the Enormowl wouldn't be something she could do. It would fly. If it flew, she would see the ground and understand the distance between her and it. So, no. That was not an option. Nor was staying up there. She wanted to. Oh, by Famula and Moseke she wanted to, but Faith was marked of Vri.

Love, like no two people on Idalos had. That was why she climbed, her hands searching for the holds which would keep her balance even as she felt the hot tears pour down her cheeks. Sorrow, and anguish at how she had caused this, how her weakness had meant that she was taken and they had to come and find her. It drove her to find the footholds which she needed, to get her back to him. Where she needed to be and where he needed her too. Remembrance of what he had given up for her, what he thought of her and their life together. He needed her as much as she needed him and so even as she gulped for air and with her whole body shaking she climbed. Because death? Death was Vri's fourth domain and this trial, Faith vowed, it would not be either of them who met the Immortal she loved.

So, the terrified young woman was shaking from head to toe, tears were pouring down her cheeks and she took in great ragged sobbing breaths. She had failed him, failed them a hundred different ways since that pin prick in her neck on the streets of Scalvoris. But not now. Now, she would climb, unmindful of how much it cut her hands, how much the sobs and terror wracked her body and mind and no matter anything. Because she had to get to him.

There was nowhere else. Nothing else, noone else. As she did her best to breathe and wondered how she managed it so effectively usually, Faith tried to climb down the cliff, clinging to it and sobbing as she did.

Off Topic

I sought clarification from Ent regarding how far away she is. Forty meters is the rough distance.
Again, apologies for the self-absorbed post of feels. Poor Padraig is knowing what she's feeling, so there it is.

[Pash Raj'oriq]

The tall Biqaj may have actually felt his luck like a lingering stubborn warmth in the hull of his chest, a heated determination that somehow kept him staggering his way closer to the undead snowbeast than he probably ever wanted to be near anything undead ever again in his life. Stitches. He would need those, if he lived. Dark eyes like stone focused on the jagged line of hope sewed up with wire and Pash realized just how difficult it was becoming to convince his cold, bleeding body to do what he wanted it to. The chill that crawled under his skin wasn’t just from the outside anymore, but crept from within as his forced exertion continued to squeeze liquid stardust from the gash under his ribs. Numb fingers gripped his dagger in one hand and curled into matted dead fur with the other, struggling to cut through tightly sewn wire even as the undead beast continued to move, clearly angry and frustrated at his proximity, at being on fire, at his intentions.

With a hiss of frosty breath and pain, the seafaring musician dragged his weapon downward, catching on stubborn stitches and having to growl through the motion with the effort it took to reopen the wound that gave the abomination its unlife. Reaching his free hand into the disgusting dead thing’s body that was no warmer than he was, ordering his sluggish hand to grab the large stone shoved into its petrified flesh and congealed blood. The snow beast screeched, and Pash used the monster’s violent lurching for the momentum his own wounded self needed to yank the stone free.

By Zanik’s strength, he had to smash it.

He had to.

But he also didn’t want to die underneath its massive weight when it fell.

He wasn’t ready for that. Nope. Not yet.

The tall Biqaj groaned, leaning a shoulder against the raging monster’s abdomen as if they were old friends, dizzy but focused on this one thing, this singular task, one painful motion at a time. Much like reaching within his tangle of emotions, Pash reached within his innermost self, desperately summoning the reserves of his spirit, the kind of mental fortitude that kept him focused in a storm at sea, that kept him going when nothing else could, the kind of strength that honored the Immortal who had favored him just a handful of ten-trials ago. Shoving off from the snowbeast, he began to scramble away over the snow, not wanting to be anywhere near its body once he smashed the gem. Stone in one cold hand, dagger in the other, he did his best to begin to move, wildly attempting to avoid raking claws or snapping beak or thrashing tail. He finally paused only for a heartbeat or two to look for Kali, to make sure he met her gaze, shifting the grip on his dagger and raising his arm,

“Run, qau’ma! That way!”

The tall Biqaj shouted, wanting to make sure she began moving away from the giant abomination so that it didn’t crush her when it fell, aware that he needed to keep doing the same. Still, he brought the pommel of his dagger down on the stone once. Twice. A third time. Again if he had to. However many times it took, focused in fear and pain. Smashing it against his gloved hand until it was shattered and broken, though the impact hardly hurt, extremities numb from the cold and all the blood he was still very bent on ignoring.

Pash didn’t look to see if the beast was coming for him to crush him. He didn’t stand still another trill to turn and look over his shoulder one more time, either, willing himself to move toward the shelter of some rocks jutting out from the snow, even if he had to get there by crawling, hoping Kali would follow him, that he could finally assess the situation with her nearby.

Maybe the Immortals would smile on them and that damned snowbeast would fall on its undead master, allowing Padraig a real upper hand.

[Kali'rial]

"Here..stupid.." The huntress yelled, stumbling back in the snow to avoid another swish of claws and rolling to her hands and knees. Her head and neck throbbed, and her thoughts were loose. Basic survival instinct drove her to drop flat in the cold powder as the beasts tail lashed out over the top of her. Immortal's, where was Pash now? In the haze of her bump, whilst trying to distract the monster she'd managed to loose sight of the man.

A sudden loud and agonising screech left the oversized bird, and as Kali lifted her head she saw its movements had slowed. It had changed. From beneath the creature she saw a most blessed sight as the bard appeared, nearly one half of him covered in greenish black gunk and a gemstone in hand.

He'd done it! By All the Immortal's he'd done it!

Run, qua’ma! That way!

Scrambling to her feet, the southerner began to move, slowing however when she noticed how sluggish he was. How much blood there was. The Biqaj was smashing the gem into pieces with his dagger, and he was moving, but not fast enough. Slinging her bow across her chest the Sev'ryn felt a surge of adrenaline as she realised if he didn't move, it they both didn't move, that the abomination could well crush them both. Putting her aches aside, the huntress ran towards the bloodied sailor, grabbing him by the upper arm and pulling on him to move faster towards the rocks reaching to the sky like skeletal claws. Together, if the beast didn't topple on them already, they would fall in a heap of snow and silvery blood behind the outcrop.

"You stupid brave idiot." Kali'rial growled as she shifted to pull him half into her lap, pressed against the cold rocks and twisting her head to watch the undead creature fall even as she unslung her bow. If it fell on them, she could only hope the rocks would save them from being crushed.

Beyond them, the Sev'ryn knew bad things were happening still. She's not missed Faith's flight of terror, and it was easy to hear the clash of swords between Padraig and his foe. If they weren't crushed by the corpse, Kali did have a plan. She couldn't leave Pash, but she could still shoot her bow.

"Moseke, bless us in this time of darkness. Share with us Your most graceful Light." The brunette prayed as she watched, and waited.

[Padraig]

[img]/gallery/image ... ge_id=5045[/img]

If he and Faith had been like ordinary lovers, their connection one to the other wouldn't have been what it was. In order to protect her, he was forced to reserve the lion's share of his focus for his opponent, and the monster who'd taken her.

An ordinary connection in a sense would have made it easier. He could not see what was happening to her, since his energy necessarily was spent on predicting the aggressor's next move. He'd have liked to say that even without the marks and brands and blessings of several Immortals, they'd have been of one mind, heart and soul anyway. They weren't ordinary lovers. In this case however, it was possible that the closer connection was as much a curse as a blessing. He couldn't see or hear, exactly. But all the same, he knew.

He had to redouble his focus at a time that it would be all too easy to let rage consume him. He had to trust that she'd come back to him unscathed. And in the meantime, he needed to remain, himself, as unscathed as possible when impulses might otherwise cause him to strike out blindly. He wouldn't, even though he'd taken several cuts and gashes that had sent him momentarily stumbling back with a grunt or a hissing between clenched teeth. Focus became all the more necessary as a result. But as long as he was standing, he wouldn't let up.

The man had ego though, and it was a weakness, an opening as real as any other. "Special? What's so special?" he asked as, relentlessly, he continued to advance. Blocking, thrusting, slashing. Still determined to lop off a limb that would be slower to mend itself than a mere cut. "At best, as minds and souls go, you strike me as unremarkable. Predictable," he taunted. "and disappointing. Like a cheap parody of all things objectionable." And all the while, Padraig didn't relent but pressed forward, at once attempting to drive the man back, and cause him to act on insult and impulse rather than better sense.