The boars kick connected with Puck's head. He'd been too concentrated on maintaining his gust to avoid it. The little gembound's jaws clicked shut. Wind petered out immediately. And then, he went soaring away from Sora and the group. Into the dark sky.
And straight into the limbs of a dark, scraggly tree. Dead branches and sticks stuck into Pucks back. In the chaos, the gembound managed to grab a dry branch with a pair of feet, and righted himself. He could still see the light. He was still within its sphere of influence. He spat the stones, rubbing at his cheeks. He noted how loose his teeth felt. Puck growled.
"Stupid pig!" He cried at the peccary. He pulled a snapped twig off his fur, waving it menacingly. "Stupid, stupid pig! Puck make you pay!"
PUCK is attempting to stay with the group
So many things were going on around the bird that they had no idea what they were going to do. Their wing was bleeding, but not broken, if they had to fly they could do it. Rainstorm was always strong enough to fly- being a bird. Though they didn't particularly like flying in the slightest. It was good to get away from danger, but this danger wasn't something the bird could get away from. If they fled, the shadows would surely swallow them up and leave them with no oxygen left. They wouldn't be able to come back from that, even if they were to crystallize. They could feel it in their bones.
The others moved around to go peek at other things, something in the ground, another muttering something about bad air. And then another thing that surely was the torch. Rainstorm didn't have any means of lighting it. It would bring the group more light, and wane off some more of the shadows that were going to sweep them whole. They would wait to see what was happening, and try to stick with the group.
Somehow, they were unable to stay away from the dangers. Throat catching the nasty air, their lungs didn't like that. Closing their beak, they attempted to hold the rest of the good breath they had, and hope to get out at least somewhat safely.
Rainstorm is attempting to stick with the group
In the chaotic storm of noise and motion, the sound of his own hot breath in his ears, the blinding black, he saw
helpers. Rescuers, like himself, coming to aid the others. And he called out to them, where he could--thanking them, praising them in breathless gasps.
"Thank you-! Which way? Here! Here! Thank you--we have to stick together--good! Here!" They were uttered in staccato cries as the situation swirled and changed, but he'd found Black, at least--as had some others. Warrior offered a nod to Elyon, but Black was already grabbing the white horse's flanks, and Warrior snorted in alarm as the beast pulled astride him.
Cold, scratching, chaotic madness--and then he was galloping, nostrils flared, crying out for others to follow (and watching as they did so). When his white body burst forth back into the pool of light, Black was on his back, and blood streaked down them both, trailing back in ribbons. Warrior's body was only scratched, but Black's was ravaged: and the blood that he leaked was not read, but a thick and oily black.
Black made no move to dismount, and Warrior rolled eyes worriedly toward him, nostrils flaring again and again. He pranced, hoping to avoid the quicksand; with such a beast on his back, weight might become... problematic.
"Watch out for the sinking parts, here," he warned, remembering the time he'd been sunken nearly to his chest as a foal. And he kept his head high, afraid of the air that he might breathe in.
The darkness around them was still there, but Warrior felt almost as though it had fallen back--as if it were paralleling them, stalking along, waiting. He looked this way and that, but could see nothing, sense nothing; it was unnerving, and the weight of the dog-beast astride him didn't help his rising fear. The horse closed his eyes, for a moment, and focused on the earth beneath his hooves--mushy as it was--and the desert all around him.
You're still my home, he told it;
please, help us to get through this.
When the twisted 'torch' came into view, and the others began investigating, he himself set into what would have been a quick trot--but was instead a lurching, stumbling run through the suction of the muck--to move around the group. His eyes sought out wounds, worriedly, looking over everyone present, taking note of how badly-off some were. And his eyes studied, too, the darkness; but he could see nothing there. He paid attention to the parts of the land that the pig-like creature had pointed out as safe, and trusted her judgment on them, keeping to them with careful strides.
He cast out his magic, again--not to watch outside them, but to watch those present. To ensure one didn't suddenly vanish, out of sight and out of mind, without him seeing.
horse stock: colourize-stock.deviantart.com
His consciousness had nearly blinked out. Faded, swirling to darkness, the cold sweeping up to numb the myriad, black-bleeding wounds. And then the light had returned--glowing fuzzy spheres resolving, in his vision, to baubled items and pale bodies. The white horse, thundering up beside him; Elyon, just behind and to one side, her plated body and her weapons clattering on approach. His mind swept back, air returning to his lungs.
Warrior reached him first, and so it was the white horse he grabbed, hauling his bulk atop. He never let go his halberd, keeping it tightly gripped in one fist as he awkwardly, swiftly threw himself onto the horse's back. He'd never done this before; had no idea how, really, but here he was, cloak draped around him and hood swept back by his fall. When Warrior turned, charging back into the light, he held tight to the horse's mane and leaned forward so as not to fall.
There was chaos, still. Movement, noise; bodies in and out of the light. Black tried to watch, his consciousness still lighting back up from its near-slumber (or worse), and sat higher on the horse's back as they regrouped and moved on. Thick, black sludge--his oily, corrupted blood--slicked his body from myriad wounds. What had inflicted them-? He could not remember having seen anything, there. Only... nothing; and something ripping at his flesh. It hurt--the pain was sobering, a sharp reminder that all else aside, he was still a mortal being. And it was distracting. But he would not die, not from these injuries; and he remained the stoic guardian that his former mastiff self had always been.
He had observed, too, the light splitting, then rejoining--growing smaller, larger. It seemed unnatural to him, and he spoke, his voice ragged and hollow. "The light must not be split again. The void consumes," he informed them.
And then, sitting high on Warrior's trotting, circling back, holding his halberd stiffly vertical in one hand, he began to study the edges of the shadow: keeping watch for danger, even as he sent his shadowed magic to begin mending the worst of his wounds. His blood loss, he knew, would affect his ability to keep watch, and to protect. He had to stay alert.
Black is rolling to protect the entire group.
He'd nearly been lost to the dark: a glimmer of fading consciousness, a flicker of sleep rising up to claim him. Dizzy, dark fuzz had encroached upon his vision; and then there was a sharp tugging at his ear. A twittering voice, there.
Fireheart blinked, and the pain came rushing back: the agony of dozens of slashing wounds, criss-crossing his body. He'd fallen on his left, he realized--and as he pushed up, he felt that the majority of the injuries--whatever had caused them--had been inflicted over his right side. His face, his flanks, his ribs--he was battered. Slender snout turned toward Pumpkin, and he blinked, trying to focus.
Other shapes swept forth from the darkness--the sudden appearance of another set of flaming eyes, of a long, slender neck sweeping him forward (and he stumbled up to help himself along). And a snake, long and thick-bodied, speaking of finding their way back. Gratitude swept over him, surprisingly strong; he'd never had anyone risk themselves for him, before. It hadn't been necessary. And he coughed, and dipped his head in humility.
"Thank you. I will do what I can," he told them, and with the help, he stumbled back to the rest. They were pressing forward, then, and Fireheart, looking among the Gembound, could see that he was not the only one who was injured. "I saw nothing out there," he informed them, trying not to focus on his fear, on the hammering heartbeat in his chest. "It was just-... As soon as I was in the dark, the light went out. And something attacked." But what-? Puck was speaking, talking about something with long claws--what was it he had seen?
Fireheart studied the shadows, but could pick nothing from them. He had to stumble along with the rest, checking on Nassir with a few glances, fighting as his body sank over and over in the marsh. Instincts screamed: he reeked of blood. It was dangerous. Something might find him.
When at last they reached the torch, such as it was, Fireheart had to crane his head back to see it all. It was tall, and it was wooden, and smelled of something that might burn; and so he struggled closer to it, pulling paws from sucking muck, swamp-water and blood dampening his lower body. But if he could just get near enough to it...
"This might be the torch-? I will try to light it," he told the rest.
His mind fought back to his fire lessons with Dragon. Inhale, he thought, fighting to concentrate past the sense of chaos all around him. Focus, feel the destruction inside you. Let it take the wood. And if you fail, there's always water underneath, he told himself sardonically.
White jaws opened, head tilting back, ears flattening; a gout of flame swept up for the torch, roaring fire sputtering for its wood. When it had finished, he dipped his head down, plunging it into the water: a hiss of rising steam escaped around his face.
And suddenly, everything was going crazy.
Pumpkin wasn't coming back immediately -- no, in fact, Ifrit and Orenstein had followed after him! "PUMPKIN! IFRIT, ORENSTEIN, NO! NO! YOU NEED TO LISTEN TO MORGANITE!" but they were gone. They actually came back soon enough. Kini was about to go after them, but they came back. Sora, thank goodness for her, was already on Pumpkin for his incredibly reckless rescue plan. Alright yes he had succeeded but that meant nothing. One success wasn't consistent, wasn't proof enough that the next attempt would work out just as well.
Kini called out to Pumpkin, lightly scratched and heavily foolish. "Exactly what Sora said. You may think you're doing something good, but in the long run, that is a deception. Please, Pumpkin, just listen to us, we want what is best for you. For all of you. So don't be a hero." Kini could've said more, but it felt that Pumpkin had been lectured enough. Now was the time to move.
Morganite was investigating, many were investigating their deadly surroundings, which Kini found, in part, ridiculously risky. The horse had said they were deadly already, that was incentive enough to stay away. Although to be fair, it was hard to stay away from a place you couldn't see.
Suddenly, the onslaught of calls of distress pulled Kini's ears in different directions. The oci-goat, unfortunately, couldn't be everywhere at once! Sora was threatening Kini not to try and pull her out of whatever she'd fallen into. Simon-- was that Simon?-- called out as well. Kini couldn't tell where Orenstein and Ifrit were. This was a disaster, but that's why they were a family. A team. If Sora wouldn't let Kini handle it, then so be it. "OWLFACE! Sora is in trouble, help her!" Of those Kini could see, that left Simon.
Simon, dear Simon, who had listened and was near Morganite. Morganite, who had marked a spot. Had Simon fallen? Kini followed the scent, dashed over, knelt down next to the quicksand pit Simon had fallen into. Kini then attempted to put its head on the ground so its horns would reach out over the pit, and say, "Simon, grab my horns if you can!"
KINI is rolling to protect SIMON.
Usingizi was relieved to find the others unharmed. However, she was soon to find out she was wrong about the blood. So wrong. The dark began its assault, on all of them. Phantom hands and claws tore at her, and tried to pull her further into the dark. Usingizi screamed, writhing and coiling under the pain. And then, unusually fast, she shot forward. An attempt for the light. The reason she'd entered the dark all but forgotten in the panic. Whatever had attacked her continued it onslaught.
The slashes against her hide did not end. It was only when her scales caught the pale bluish light, and she was safely beneath the wisp, that the onslaught ended. She slowed. Her body rose and fell rapidy in time with her heartbeats. She turned a wary eye to face the dark. Her cuts wept sluggishly. But she was not dying. The knowlege it couldve been much worse had her shuddering. She didn't want to be here. She wanted to find her way back to Cetus, where the water was a nice, comforting chill. Not this. "Never again." She said.
She could scent the other group, up ahead. Relief flooded her, and she sighed. Safety. She slithered closer to the group. They all seemed concentrated on their own tasks. And the first wisp sat there, in front of a strange offering of branches. Its' twisted form reminded her of the shapes. The creatures in the dark. Had she lips, she would've frowned.
She flicked her tongue, tasting the air. It smelled burnable. It was probably one of the torches the Masked Merchant had spoke about. Others seemed to be dealing with the task. She turned her attention away. The discussion of the vultures not too long ago bobbed to the forefront of her mind. Surely this cave had more lessers. But she had not seen any. Heard any. Were they all dead? Did the dark come for the lessers as it did for the greaters? She flicked her tongue out, checking the air. The scent of pitch, sulfur and rot were too strong. Overpowered her sense of smell. Perhaphs she needed to go further out. She slithered further from the light. Still could not smell. Further out. And then, suddenly, she was gone. Plunged into deep, dark water.
USINGIZI is rolling to investigate lessers
The wisp led them to a clearing within the dead marsh. Quartz took everything in with a calm, calculated eye. A torch, there for them to light. Dead trees with gnarled branches curved over them. It looked like everywhere else in the marsh, save the torch. Quartz had no way of knowing where in the dead marsh they were. Their attention was briefly swapped to the second wisp that came, floating with the other group behind. It was a pleasant surprise. Quartz was, to its surprise, relieved to see them. None dead, though the black creature riding the horse, and the white wolf looked seriously hurt. Quartz frowned. Another pair of gembound dead, it seemed.
While the others did their investigating, lighting the torch or checking their surroundings, Quartz's mind was focused on what was ahead. No matter what, they were sure they would have to walk through the quicksand and marshes. They hummed in thought. A glance back to make sure all gembound were safe, and around them. Then, trotted forward until their hooves felt the delicate ground of quicksand.
Quartz resisted the urge to panic and leap back. No Nemean here to toss them into the marshes. With the press of a hoof, magicka surged. Air pressure became denser around and ahead of them, and the marshy soil became compressed. The areas of deep quicksand became obvious. Water squeezed out and overflowed into a layer above the compressed sand, leaking into the ground around. It was no telling how long the path Quartz had made would last. They flexed their back fin as they thought.
"A safe path here," they called, testing the ground.
QUARTZ is rolling to investigate quicksand
It seemed like half of their family had run off into the shadows to help those who'd fallen behind and Owlface had no idea whether to feel terrified for their safety or guilty he had just ran away in blind fear. He settled on both.
The fact that the only thing out there seemed to be a powerful nothing terrified them further. No way to fight back. No way to detect the threat other than to stay away from the dark. The only thing they could do is run.
They kept looking back as they ran, trying to catch glimpses of their family but knowing they had to keep their eyes on the ground, lest they fall victim to quicksand or deep water or any other of the hazards the Horse had mentioned.
Then they arrived at a.. tree? Owlface didn't pay much attention to it, instead turning their attention to those who'd fallen behind, now catching back up to the group. They frowned as they spotted bloody scratches on each of the stragglers. For being a huge void of nothing, the darkness sure was sharp and bite-y. They rushed towards the closest injured gembound they could spot- Orenstein, who was already bee-lining towards the tree. Kini was partially ignore, Owlface's attention already focused on Orenstein.
"You're hurt!" They'd say, concern and mild panic clear in their voice as they scrambled forward through the crowd, "Let me help-"
Owlface had been paying so much attention to getting through the crowd toward Orenstein they hadn't been paying attention to where they stepped, despite how careful they had been just moments prior. A seemingly shallow puddle turned out to be FAR deeper than they had anticipated, and soon they were flailing around in a panic. They weren't exactly the best swimmer in the world, but they knew enough to (hopefully) manage to swim to the shore.
OWLFACE is rolling to protect ORENSTEIN. (Failure: Shadows)
The air reeked of blood and fear, and though his chest was alight with Vincenzo's courage, he still worried.
Would one of them die? One or more? Collapse, their blood soaking into the sands? Would the scent of their blood attract the lessers? The vultures, the worms? Whatever was in the shadows? It was quiet, so if something came for them, he hoped they would hear it, but nothing about this silence was normal, so would it hide their sounds?
One of the hybrids was marking safe spots, and others were yelling, so the fossa began to slip through the sands, paws hesitant, calling out "It's safe to walk here," then "Careful, quicksand here!"
And then his paws were going out from under him, sinking rapidly into the sand, and he only had a brief moment to gulp for air before he was going beneath.
Mayngo is rolling to protect the entire group.