[Event] The Trial of Hydra - Darkness

TRIAL OF HYDRA - DARKNESS

ROUND 8 - THE THIRD TORCH

There in the darkness, claustrophobic, pressing, they lost three more.

The light was too small, now, for them all to stay within. It was inevitable that a toe out of line here, or a leg there, would lead to an early demise. Morganite's words were not reassuring--the opposite, in fact, for as they spoke, the shadows twisted in and they vanished abruptly from sight, coiled away like a mouse in a python's grasp. Only the swift action of Mayngo would save them--at the cost, at last, of Mayngo's own life. He had, it seemed, skirted death's touch for far too long, and it would catch up with him at last...

The shadows were crushing, now: still silent, still cold, but it seemed as though tendrils swept in, curling among the group, as if the light itself were extinguished here and there as Ifrit was enveloped--sweeping away the warmth he'd tried to summon, and the light. Close by Anemoi--for whatever reason--was chosen, too, a sudden shadow in the dim, small light. Fireheart and Orenstein, guardians to the last, would perish protecting them, and die in their stead.

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Then came the final torch. Damaged, splintered--and what had done that-? A black metal halberd, cold to the touch and whispering softly, was jammed into the splintered wood. A soft sound of scuttling shell, and then something heavy thumping into the sand, could be heard some distance ahead--in the thick, unpierced dark. Without Fireheart to light the torch, the Gembounds would need to find another way.

And the Gembound were far, as yet, from safe.

Behind them, in the distance, the quicksand and the shadows--for whatever unknown reason--rejected Warrior; the coughing, choking horse would be spat unconscious onto (more) solid ground. *

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Morganite, Ifrit, and Anemoi will be saved; in their stead, Orenstein, Fireheart and Mayngo will perish, respectively. The rest must find a way to light the final torch; death is still possible, here in these last few moments in the dark...

Code:

<b>NAME is rolling to --?.</b>

(Low risk)

Code:

<b>NAME is rolling to protect OTHER NAME(S).</b>

(Higher risk)

Code:

<b>NAME is rolling to protect the entire group.</b>

(Highest risk)

A Gembound's roll must reflect their in-character actions.

He heard the whispers before he saw the halberd--ears pricking up, the vibrations of the unsettling sound gently touching the thick fur there. But just before it came into sight, he saw and heard the brief commotion beside him: the other fire-bringer engulfed, putting not only he but those he was aiding in mortal danger.

The white wolf sprang forward with a guttural roar, fangs bared to the gums in sudden ferocity, his fiery eyes ablaze: gouts of flame poured from his open jaws, and the sharp clacking of his teeth snapping at the shadows was audible.

The darkness curled back away from Ifrit as he lunged, doing his best to drive it back with light and fire: but he pursued it, chased it, snarling his hackles-raised challenge into the night. The flame blasted back, and he let it engulf him, and in a fireball he raged into the darkness and was lost from sight.

It would be the fire that killed him, but he did not scream; he roared as he tried to fight a darkness that could not pierce the flame; as he charged burning into shadows that he could not ignite. It was still a terrible sound, a tangled cacophony of wolf-bellows and canine cries, but the others would be spared the sight of it.

Ifrit, at least, would survive--but the stench of charred fur would reach the Gembound not long after Fireheart's growls stopped.

It was quick, the feeling of bladed shadows curling up and around his legs, biting into his flesh and rending muscle from bone; he faltered, struggling to reach his neck into the fading group of light so that those hitching a ride would not be lost with him. But it was the wolf, Fireheart, who came running to his rescue in a fit of snarls and growls. His body was thick with flame as he dove into the shadow, chasing it, fighting it off so that Ifrit may pull himself back into the small baubled circle.

Blood was fresh on his legs, dripping down to his hooves as he turned to search the crying night for traces of the other—there was the distant glow of flame, the yips and growls, and then... nothing.

"Fireheart," he called, dumbly at first, a numbing sensation prickling through his veins. "Fireheart!" he called again, louder and more desperate. He wanted to follow. He waned to dive into the darkness himself and pull the wolf free, again. Again. But he couldn't, could he? There was nothing out there, nothing to reach in and save. Tears stung in his eyes and his teeth mashed together; he'd see this through for Fireheart, and for his family, too. He'd see this through.

A small amount of warmth blossomed in his blood, but he could not tell if that was from pain or from his own magic. Still, he pressed on with the others, but their circle of light had decreased by a whole lot! He struggled to stay within the group, keeping his neck and head lowered so that those upon him would be safe...

Now, the issue was: how were they going to light the last torch?

Cautiously, his eyes shifted to the monkey that had thrown a torch previously: there was still a lit torch in its grasp and Ifrit sucked in a careful breath. "Please... don't throw that one..." he whispered, pleading. Please don't fucking throw that one away. His eyes moved back to the torch itself, which was a little more messed up than the others had been. Was it... had it been attacked?? Ifrit paused in his step, recoiling away from the strange weapon and whispers.

"Wait. Wait, why is this one different?"

Rattled breathing,

"P-please..."

Heaving wingbeats,

"Help me..."

A thud,

"I'm so scared,"

Staggering pawsteps,

"Pleeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaase,"

Uneven, wrong,

"H-he-he-he-lp-elp."

Styx swayed at the edge of the light, voice stuttering in a bubbling throat. "E-eh-eh-ehlp-," his paws squished, squelched, began to join with the sand. His jowls oozed, dripped to the ground. Pointed ears folded over, crumpling beneath their own weight, "Me-e-e-e" slowly the rest of him followed, unable to support itself,

"He-e-e-"

Clamor. Clamor. Crying. Shouting.

"..."

Creatures. Creatures in light. Light.

"You're leaving me."

Blood dripping.

"Abandoning me."

Light. Light on scales. Light on him.

"..."

Glassy eyes. Bloody teeth. Blood. It dripped from every opening on his head. Down gouges on a broken spine.

"...Please,"

Was he alive? Was he dead? Who's mind was behind those words?

"Help me,"

Melting. Melting. Scales dripping from a skeleton. Oozing into the earth. Decomposition.

"Help me,"

Urgent. Rampant. Desperate. Time ticking down every moment, 9 8 7 6--

"I'm scared I'm scared I'M SCARED-"

Collapse. Puppet strings cut.

Soft sand.