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Entry tags:
- !event,
- arknights: gavial,
- baroque: koriel xii (dextera),
- bastard!!: dark schneider,
- boy's abyss: gen minegishi,
- expanse (the): amos burton,
- fire emblem: byleth eisner,
- fire emblem: claude von riegan,
- fire emblem: dimitri a. blaiddyd,
- fire emblem: yuri leclerc,
- granblue fantasy: eustace,
- jinba: hayame,
- legend of zelda (the): midna,
- locked tomb (the): john gaius,
- oc: liem talbott,
- star wars: cassian andor,
- star wars: jyn erso,
- vampire hunter d: d
Toxic Love: The Exalt Oracle
NOTHING GOES OFF WITHOUT A HITCH
You feel it, the moment that the Exalt oracle opens its eyes, like something that rips through your body from head to toe, something that feel like fire, wild. It sears into your veins, like acid and fire, something that triggers something that makes you want to run, or perhaps turn and face something head on. Before you can find what sets you off – if you could find it. Bearers know what this sensation is, it is different but the same at its core. The emotions, the feelings it sparks are different – but in the end, you know it for what it is: An Oracle.
Kenos groans from the awakening, like a part of a whole sparks to life, and though you do not know what it is that they want yet, you understand and know their existence down to your core. That feeling to attack or defend, perhaps even flee, does not leave you, but instead it fills your veins, you feel it thrumming, pulsing, like the beat of a heart – if one has one. With the sense of awakening, bearers know the shape of what comes next, they will be asked to act, to do. You do not know how it will happen, or what the Exalt will ask of you, but the knowledge that it will happen is borne from experience, not from the Oracle itself.
As you begin to move, to… look, you are not long for this day, it clouds your mind, a hazy, drowsy feeling takes over, the encroaching dark that threatens to swarm, crowding from the sides, taking over your vision – until… it fully takes over, and Bearers are put into a deep slumber.
When bearers awaken, it’s difficult to make sense of what your sleepy eyes see. Structures begin to swim into view, and they like tall figures looking down upon you. It’s difficult to tell what they are at first, but as you wake up, you begin to see, they are not people, or creatures, but long spore-like stalks. Some have ribbed overgrowths that you can see, and some end in growths that ripple and hang over, but have no “cap”. They tower over the bearers, like towering spires and buildings, on all sides, as if they were trapped in a ring of them. As bearers look around them they will notice tall green spires around them as well, and it takes a moment for things to really settle in. Mushrooms. Blades of grass. The springy moss about them is almost as tall as they are, low to the ground. There are pebbles that appear as boulders, and the thunderous steps nearby indicate an insect or arachnid walking by, far larger than you. There is a stillness to this space, like a held breath, and as the bearers awake, and regard one another, and then to the center of the circle is – a small effigy in the center.
It is here, the Exalt Oracle, and you feel compelled to regard it, before you are given a pang down to your core. It compels you – pleads, asks, begs, and demands, all in one – for what it wishes for. Precious mementos and precious items that they are missing. They have been lost, and they are somewhere within the Liosachán. It beseeches the bearers to return its items, and begs they be returned here to the circle. There are no words, but there is a pleading sensation, a feeling that these items are treasured by this Oracle.
You feel at your sides, your pockets, and find one item on your person, a weapon, a companion, whatever it is you would bring with you to the conflict, shrunk down to a tiny size with you.
Stay steadfast, bearers, and capture theflag Oracle!
Kenos groans from the awakening, like a part of a whole sparks to life, and though you do not know what it is that they want yet, you understand and know their existence down to your core. That feeling to attack or defend, perhaps even flee, does not leave you, but instead it fills your veins, you feel it thrumming, pulsing, like the beat of a heart – if one has one. With the sense of awakening, bearers know the shape of what comes next, they will be asked to act, to do. You do not know how it will happen, or what the Exalt will ask of you, but the knowledge that it will happen is borne from experience, not from the Oracle itself.
As you begin to move, to… look, you are not long for this day, it clouds your mind, a hazy, drowsy feeling takes over, the encroaching dark that threatens to swarm, crowding from the sides, taking over your vision – until… it fully takes over, and Bearers are put into a deep slumber.
When bearers awaken, it’s difficult to make sense of what your sleepy eyes see. Structures begin to swim into view, and they like tall figures looking down upon you. It’s difficult to tell what they are at first, but as you wake up, you begin to see, they are not people, or creatures, but long spore-like stalks. Some have ribbed overgrowths that you can see, and some end in growths that ripple and hang over, but have no “cap”. They tower over the bearers, like towering spires and buildings, on all sides, as if they were trapped in a ring of them. As bearers look around them they will notice tall green spires around them as well, and it takes a moment for things to really settle in. Mushrooms. Blades of grass. The springy moss about them is almost as tall as they are, low to the ground. There are pebbles that appear as boulders, and the thunderous steps nearby indicate an insect or arachnid walking by, far larger than you. There is a stillness to this space, like a held breath, and as the bearers awake, and regard one another, and then to the center of the circle is – a small effigy in the center.
It is here, the Exalt Oracle, and you feel compelled to regard it, before you are given a pang down to your core. It compels you – pleads, asks, begs, and demands, all in one – for what it wishes for. Precious mementos and precious items that they are missing. They have been lost, and they are somewhere within the Liosachán. It beseeches the bearers to return its items, and begs they be returned here to the circle. There are no words, but there is a pleading sensation, a feeling that these items are treasured by this Oracle.
You feel at your sides, your pockets, and find one item on your person, a weapon, a companion, whatever it is you would bring with you to the conflict, shrunk down to a tiny size with you.
Stay steadfast, bearers, and capture the
SURVIVAL OF THE SMALLEST ( DAYS 1 - 5 )
Unlike the still, stale apocalypse that had been the setting of the Iconoclast Oracle, the greenhouse is lush and vibrant with activity.
The Effigy present within yearns to be reunited with what belongs to it, fixated upon the five items lost within the greenhouse. The swell of its longing fills all Shardbearers, urging them to take action, claim the items and present all five to it to attain victory for that Faction.
Over a period of ten days, Shardbearers of both factions will have to navigate environmental dangers, and the normal procession of time, as the greenhouse is going about its daily routine. Workers plod around like towering goliaths, weeding and watering and pruning the greenhouse's contents. The Liosachán's native population of fae begin to take notice of the newcomers in their midst, emerging from grassy mounds hidden in the natural landscape to spy and pry about the newness surrounding them.
For Shardbearers demonstrating particular selflessness, favoring the protection and defense of another, the Effigy responds warmly from the third day onward — rewarding them with a sign of their dutiful nature towards others in the form of fairy wings, the form of which are unique to the Shardbearer themselves.
DAY FOUR. The sudden thunderous sound of a storm begins. No, not a storm, the tumble and crash of water pouring down upon the greenhouse — the workers of the Liosachán perform their routines faithfully, after all. In watering the garden, the danger of the environment threatens to overtake Shardbearers and their work alike. Drops of water fall, their size equal or larger than even the tallest of characters, and trickles of water muddy the ground in the form of raging rapids.
The security of Meridian and Zenith's camps is even called into question, because as simple as the act of watering a garden is, it is a nightmarish situation for such itty bitty Bearers to be in!
DAY FIVE. By day five, the fae of the Liosachán no longer lurk and linger in the corner of one's eye. They make themselves known, having prepared a banquet below one of the mushrooms, within sight of the Effigy. A table draped in spider-silk lace awaits any Bearer who comes near enough, the sagging piece of driftwood polished to a gleam with golden sap, leaving it waterproofed and pretty to behold. A handful of corks serve as seating, with most of the fae draping themselves across scraps of cotton as though they are simply at a picnic.
They invitingly wave to Shardbearers, chattering brightly in their foreign, lilting tongue, waving tiny sandwiches and little clay pots full of jams and honeys, brandishing sugared berries that they bite into with gusto, staining their arms and faces in swathes of blue and red. They clearly are welcoming to whomever comes upon them, urging them to avail themselves to the bounty they have prepared. Perhaps some characters know better than to eat the food of the fae, recalling legends and lore about the mystical properties and implicit bargains made in becoming a guest. Perhaps some have no idea, and are simply hungry enough to dig in!
The Effigy present within yearns to be reunited with what belongs to it, fixated upon the five items lost within the greenhouse. The swell of its longing fills all Shardbearers, urging them to take action, claim the items and present all five to it to attain victory for that Faction.
Over a period of ten days, Shardbearers of both factions will have to navigate environmental dangers, and the normal procession of time, as the greenhouse is going about its daily routine. Workers plod around like towering goliaths, weeding and watering and pruning the greenhouse's contents. The Liosachán's native population of fae begin to take notice of the newcomers in their midst, emerging from grassy mounds hidden in the natural landscape to spy and pry about the newness surrounding them.
Naturally curious, and equally dangerous, the fae of the Liosachán are Highstorm natives. They range in cool coloration, from soft violet-greys to deep stormy blues, and wear clothes fashioned from of goods pilfered from the pockets of workers, dropped on the ground or handcrafted from the environment itself. Wielding bits of copper tightly wound into blades and spears, they are a ferocious and cunning little people who seek to trick, trap and toy with Shardbearers. Direct violence is anathema to them, but violence that happens as a result of falling to one of their ploys is a badge of honor.DAY ONE - THREE. The Effigy initially urges Shardbearers to build bases of operation for defense and practicality, as surviving ten days without supporting one another is a surefire way to meet a grisly, tiny little end. Resources must be gathered: gather food and water, prepare shelter, establish unity and organization and prepare to set off into the wilds soon.
For Shardbearers demonstrating particular selflessness, favoring the protection and defense of another, the Effigy responds warmly from the third day onward — rewarding them with a sign of their dutiful nature towards others in the form of fairy wings, the form of which are unique to the Shardbearer themselves.
DAY FOUR. The sudden thunderous sound of a storm begins. No, not a storm, the tumble and crash of water pouring down upon the greenhouse — the workers of the Liosachán perform their routines faithfully, after all. In watering the garden, the danger of the environment threatens to overtake Shardbearers and their work alike. Drops of water fall, their size equal or larger than even the tallest of characters, and trickles of water muddy the ground in the form of raging rapids.
The security of Meridian and Zenith's camps is even called into question, because as simple as the act of watering a garden is, it is a nightmarish situation for such itty bitty Bearers to be in!
DAY FIVE. By day five, the fae of the Liosachán no longer lurk and linger in the corner of one's eye. They make themselves known, having prepared a banquet below one of the mushrooms, within sight of the Effigy. A table draped in spider-silk lace awaits any Bearer who comes near enough, the sagging piece of driftwood polished to a gleam with golden sap, leaving it waterproofed and pretty to behold. A handful of corks serve as seating, with most of the fae draping themselves across scraps of cotton as though they are simply at a picnic.
They invitingly wave to Shardbearers, chattering brightly in their foreign, lilting tongue, waving tiny sandwiches and little clay pots full of jams and honeys, brandishing sugared berries that they bite into with gusto, staining their arms and faces in swathes of blue and red. They clearly are welcoming to whomever comes upon them, urging them to avail themselves to the bounty they have prepared. Perhaps some characters know better than to eat the food of the fae, recalling legends and lore about the mystical properties and implicit bargains made in becoming a guest. Perhaps some have no idea, and are simply hungry enough to dig in!
UNWILLING TEN-ANTS ( DAYS SIX - EIGHT )
The scuttling, scrabbling feet of ants crawling over surfaces, winding their way through this grassy playground, has become normal. Their feet thunder as they go about their business, and it seems to be a normal cadence to life here in the underbrush, in the greenhouse. It is normal, and it is has become nothing to really concern oneself with. They are ants, after all, what do they do, but work? Endlessly, continuously.
That is, until the heavy, loud sounds of their feet draw closer to whatever place that the bearers have found to camp in. Whether solitary or as a group, these workers are no longer content to simply ignore the bearers, but they are a curiosity, perhaps even a bother. You have disrupted their lifestyle. The sleepy pattern of obtain food, return ot the hive, and back out again now has obstacles. Now there are not simply the fairies, who live their own lives and existences, a part of the ecosystem, but now there are these tiny bearers. Fighting, working together, arguing and disagreeing.
You are disruptive to their way of life.
The ants have come to collect on this due, and some bearers that are vulnerable, or perhaps merely caught, are taken away, your weight so light compared to the rest of their burdens that they carry. The strength of these ants is overwhelming, incredible at this size, and try as you might, if you are caught in their strong mandibles, you cannot escape. An ant, after all, carries 1000 times their weight with those powerful jaws. You, bearer, are nothing to them.
They squirrel away the bearers within their hill, a complicated network of tunnels, junctions, and large spaces. Down within, where the air becomes stifling, and stale. The ants guard their pray, and you get the distinct sense that they see you not as people, not even as enemies, but as prey. You will be food – perhaps to the eggs that are gathered within this room, where you can see the stirring of new life, just beneath the surface. You may not have very long to live, if these little larvae get their mouths on you.
Or perhaps, your friends will save you? Once it is discovered that bearers are missing, the trail of ant prints on the ground is apparent – they are not stealthy creatures – and the feet lead from the locations of several kidnapped bearers toward the grainy ant hill that lies not far away. The hill itself swarms with life, with worker ants all over the surface, scuttling about, looking for the next meal for te colony. Or perhaps for more bearers to bring back for their young.
It will be dangerous, bearers, to save your friends. Should you choose to do so, you will be kicking the anthill, and the ants will protect what is theirs. Even if they just took it. Those bearers belong to them, now! Rescuers will find not only your average worker ant, ready to defend, but winged male ants will attack from above, and deeper, within the nest, near where the bearers are kept, lies the strongest ant in the colony: The Queen. Staggeringly large, strong, and vicious, when her subjects begin dying. She will do everything in her power to protect her colony, and that includes killing bearers, if need be. Or trying, at least.
Good luck rescuing your friends, bearers!
That is, until the heavy, loud sounds of their feet draw closer to whatever place that the bearers have found to camp in. Whether solitary or as a group, these workers are no longer content to simply ignore the bearers, but they are a curiosity, perhaps even a bother. You have disrupted their lifestyle. The sleepy pattern of obtain food, return ot the hive, and back out again now has obstacles. Now there are not simply the fairies, who live their own lives and existences, a part of the ecosystem, but now there are these tiny bearers. Fighting, working together, arguing and disagreeing.
You are disruptive to their way of life.
The ants have come to collect on this due, and some bearers that are vulnerable, or perhaps merely caught, are taken away, your weight so light compared to the rest of their burdens that they carry. The strength of these ants is overwhelming, incredible at this size, and try as you might, if you are caught in their strong mandibles, you cannot escape. An ant, after all, carries 1000 times their weight with those powerful jaws. You, bearer, are nothing to them.
They squirrel away the bearers within their hill, a complicated network of tunnels, junctions, and large spaces. Down within, where the air becomes stifling, and stale. The ants guard their pray, and you get the distinct sense that they see you not as people, not even as enemies, but as prey. You will be food – perhaps to the eggs that are gathered within this room, where you can see the stirring of new life, just beneath the surface. You may not have very long to live, if these little larvae get their mouths on you.
Or perhaps, your friends will save you? Once it is discovered that bearers are missing, the trail of ant prints on the ground is apparent – they are not stealthy creatures – and the feet lead from the locations of several kidnapped bearers toward the grainy ant hill that lies not far away. The hill itself swarms with life, with worker ants all over the surface, scuttling about, looking for the next meal for te colony. Or perhaps for more bearers to bring back for their young.
It will be dangerous, bearers, to save your friends. Should you choose to do so, you will be kicking the anthill, and the ants will protect what is theirs. Even if they just took it. Those bearers belong to them, now! Rescuers will find not only your average worker ant, ready to defend, but winged male ants will attack from above, and deeper, within the nest, near where the bearers are kept, lies the strongest ant in the colony: The Queen. Staggeringly large, strong, and vicious, when her subjects begin dying. She will do everything in her power to protect her colony, and that includes killing bearers, if need be. Or trying, at least.
Good luck rescuing your friends, bearers!
IN SMALL PACKAGES ( DAYS NINE - TEN )
The day after the ant-pocalypse brings with it the brush of recognition — the Effigy has foreseen the likely victors, and calls to them to approach it once they have suitably recovered. It judges them the ones whom are most devoted to what binds them, loyal to memory and remembrance, and begins to clamor for them to restore to it what belongs rightfully. Thus begins a full day of resting, locating last-minute items, shoring up defenses and preparing for the sprint to the finish line.
Certainly your rivals will not allow you to simply walk to the Effigy unassailed and unchallenged.
Eat, rest, ensure your fellows are close and bolstered, for tomorrow begins the final rally.
On the morning of the tenth day, Meridian Shardbearers approach the Effigy with its five items in hand. In the midst of the mushroom ring, the Effigy stands as it had in the beginning — arms outstretched and back bowed skyward, gnarled fingers seeking contact with that which has been lost to it. It awaits, it strains, and even as it does, it requires one last test of ability. From the shadows of the towering mushrooms, the rasp of scale and soft hiss of a great beast descends upon the fae ring.
A gleaming garden snake, with glossy black and green stripes, blocks the way between approaching Shardbearers and the Effigy.
Between its bright eyes, pressed upon its brow is a scattering of brighter scales that appear to be in the shape of a delicate, three-leafed plant with spiraling patterns for leaves. It braces itself against the approach, and there is no doubt that to claim victory, the serpent must be subdued. Though Meridian approaches with victory in hand, they have not yet attained it — their rival faction and this beast remain in their way.
Certainly your rivals will not allow you to simply walk to the Effigy unassailed and unchallenged.
Eat, rest, ensure your fellows are close and bolstered, for tomorrow begins the final rally.
On the morning of the tenth day, Meridian Shardbearers approach the Effigy with its five items in hand. In the midst of the mushroom ring, the Effigy stands as it had in the beginning — arms outstretched and back bowed skyward, gnarled fingers seeking contact with that which has been lost to it. It awaits, it strains, and even as it does, it requires one last test of ability. From the shadows of the towering mushrooms, the rasp of scale and soft hiss of a great beast descends upon the fae ring.
A gleaming garden snake, with glossy black and green stripes, blocks the way between approaching Shardbearers and the Effigy.
Between its bright eyes, pressed upon its brow is a scattering of brighter scales that appear to be in the shape of a delicate, three-leafed plant with spiraling patterns for leaves. It braces itself against the approach, and there is no doubt that to claim victory, the serpent must be subdued. Though Meridian approaches with victory in hand, they have not yet attained it — their rival faction and this beast remain in their way.
MISSING LINKS ( THROUGHOUT )
As the Effigy desires to be reunited with what belongs to it, the swell of its longing stirs something more within all present Shardbearers.
With that foreign longing arrives knowledge: beyond the five items prized by the Effigy itself, there are other lost things within the greenhouse. Like a compass, each Shardbearer's mind points them in direction after direction, urging them to seek and explore. Implicitly, the thrum of comprehension fills your mind: these are things that do not belong to you, per se, but seek to have your hands ferry them home.
Amidst tangled brush, hidden under doffed acorn cap, tucked away in the belly of a fae's glittering den, lost in the depths of a puddle of spilled water that seems an insurmountable lake now, folded secretly into the petals of a towering, skyscraper-like flower, there are three additional items hidden within the tumultuous landscape that each Shardbearer feels a draw towards. Things that belong to someone else, eager to be reunited with them, but subject to whim.
Upon locating and retrieving one, the Shardbearer is filled with a sense of information — they know who this item belongs to, and they will know that they have a choice. Bonds are fragile things after all, and they exist to be enforced or abused, in order to advance a goal or to deepen a connection. How will you treat someone's precious bond? How will they treat yours?
With that foreign longing arrives knowledge: beyond the five items prized by the Effigy itself, there are other lost things within the greenhouse. Like a compass, each Shardbearer's mind points them in direction after direction, urging them to seek and explore. Implicitly, the thrum of comprehension fills your mind: these are things that do not belong to you, per se, but seek to have your hands ferry them home.
Amidst tangled brush, hidden under doffed acorn cap, tucked away in the belly of a fae's glittering den, lost in the depths of a puddle of spilled water that seems an insurmountable lake now, folded secretly into the petals of a towering, skyscraper-like flower, there are three additional items hidden within the tumultuous landscape that each Shardbearer feels a draw towards. Things that belong to someone else, eager to be reunited with them, but subject to whim.
Upon locating and retrieving one, the Shardbearer is filled with a sense of information — they know who this item belongs to, and they will know that they have a choice. Bonds are fragile things after all, and they exist to be enforced or abused, in order to advance a goal or to deepen a connection. How will you treat someone's precious bond? How will they treat yours?
NOTES
Here are some prompts to set the scene and foundation of the Exalt Oracle!
— The theme of this Oracle is a loose edition of capture the flag, where the Effigy's items can pass through multiple hands within the ten day allotment.
— For additional ideas and fun, it is known that several Shardbearers have concluded their efforts to fulfill the Greenwood Yards' sidequest request.
— All details of the Exalt Oracle can be found here, and questions for the mods can be submitted here.
— For additional ideas and fun, it is known that several Shardbearers have concluded their efforts to fulfill the Greenwood Yards' sidequest request.
— All details of the Exalt Oracle can be found here, and questions for the mods can be submitted here.
no subject
["Now"...
But he is already brushing off her hand and turning to leave, as if her words were just passing things that have already glanced off of him, and the hand that she had dared to scandalously place upon him here, where anyone might see them, meant little. For a moment, just before his gaze leaves her... "Liem" will see something that almost looks like it might be hurt on Hayame's face.
But once he has turned... that expression slowly becomes strange. Later, when she is inevitably asked what it was that led her to the suspicion that wells up inside of her... Hayame will not be able to settle on on definitive thing, or even three or five. Was it how his tongue formed the sounds of her name as if he knew how the syllables were supposed to sound? Was it the way his smile seemed almost stiff, when they had known each other more for a year, and he called her friend? Perhaps it is how his shoulders suddenly drop and his posture grows rough. Or maybe...
It is the fact that he turned from her touch after all. The two of them... did not touch often. Hayame felt as if she barely knew how to properly, even when she desired to, and though she suspected (but never did him the indignity of trying to imagine that) Liem might... be different, in his private life, considering how he had tried to insist to her that while holding hands might be vulnerable enough intimacy for her Discord it was not nearly as effective on him...
It did not change the fact that neither of them were the type to view touching as something to be done in the public eye. And yet despite that... Liem had never done anything but accept and bask in her paltry attempts at touch. Most of the times she had found the courage to hold him he was "dead", his shard cradled close no matter how the sharp edges bit into her skin, but when she had held his hand, when she had enfolded him in an awkward embrace...]
Liem!
[The sound of hooves sound out behind the man after he turns the corner, but though he might expect an attack or an accusation it is just... Hayame, having caught up just enough to peek around a tent and call out,]
- I will come by your tent to read to you later as usual. Alright?
[Just a last reminder of a shared plan before parting properly.]
no subject
This entire fight's been a shitshow. An unfair one. -- a deeply unfair one, in fact. It feels like everything's been working against him -- Reiji's shard being made vulnerable when Reiji has nothing to do with this far, Set going rogue despite his objects being held hostage, that insufferable fuck John deciding to backstab him -- and for no reason. Unfair. Unfair. Like hell he's going to just sit still and let keep things play out like this.
And so he's barely left Hayame's line of sight before he palms his lighter, flipping it open with one practiced movement. One more to spin the wheel, bringing forth the little flame. And the stockpile of supplies is just up ahead, barely a few paces away. He just needs to get a little closer and -- ]
-- ...
[ He whirls around to face the direction of Hayame's voice once more, forcing himself to straighten up his posture once more, ironing his expression flat to the best of his abilities. Though past the bulky shape of the tent, maybe Hayame can spot the way 'Liem's' shoulders are clearly rounded with tension, jaw clenched with what appears to be disdain. His gaze is dark. ]
... Hayame.
[ The way he calls her name, too, is cold. Almost disdainful. Gen, wearing Liem's face, simply stares down that absolutely moronic confirmation for a moment before responding flatly: ]
There is a time and place for everything. [ 'You dumb fucking bitch,' he thinks. ] Now hardly seems the time.
[ Is that an in-character answer? Who knows. Who cares? Gen certainly doesn't, because -- the deed's already done. Behind his back, the lighter's tiny flame springs forth, given further life by his spell-casting -- in a split second it jumps from its place atop his lighter to the nearest little twig comprising the storage area's wall, starting to eat away at the wood. The spread of the flames starts slow, not enough for Hayame to catch proper sight of from where she's standing. But maybe she'll notice the small signs that something is off -- the faint smell of smoke starting to build, a strange glow backlighting 'Liem's' figure ever so slightly, and the way 'Liem' returns something to his pocket. The way 'Liem' seems completely blind to these signs even as he continues to stare at her dismissively, a lip curling ever so slightly in what appears to be disdain. ]
Or are you really so incapable of being reasonable, even at times like this?
1/2
But "Liem" doesn't ask her when she had learned to read.
Hayame is not the most skilled actress, but she has the benefit of distance and the cold, cold fury that washes over her in that moment she truly realizes that this is not Liem. She does not know how, but it is not. Was it magic, simply wearing his shape like some sort of illusory skin? Was it actually Liem's body, possessed by someone else from a distance? She hoped it was not the latter, but even if it was...
She'd already killed the man once. If she had to do it once more for his own good, to expunge some sort of devil, then she wold simply see it done. But one thing was for certain... whoever this was had no honor, no scruples, and she could not expect them not to have other tricks and traps prepared, other magic at their disposal. She'd already been taken advantage of by those stupid fucking spells, by invisibility and Fear, and she won't let it happen again. She can smell the hint of flame and smoke before it even becomes visible... But she doesn't give a damn about supplies. Supplies can be regathered.
With a twist of her lip and a quiver in her foreleg, rage passing as humiliation and rebuke, Hayame... bows her head just slightly, fingers curling into impotent fists.]
... If that is your position, then.
[She will excuse herself, turning in a whip of long mane and tail to beat a hasty retreat before he can see her looking hurt again-]
no subject
"Liem" has about ten seconds to enjoy his flickering flames before that arrow streaks near silently through the air towards his back.]
no subject
And while Gen does, very briefly, consider spending a little more time gloating over the fact that he's successfully bluffed his way out of that situation and gotten Hayame out of his business -- he ultimately decides now is probably not that time. In retrospect, that restraint is probably the only thing that keeps him from being killed on the spot.
He'd lingered where he'd stood just long enough to watch Hayame dip out of sight, still standing with that uncomfortable, ramrod-straight posture, but the moment she'd rounded a corner out of sight had been the signal for him to drop character and get back to the matter at hand. The fire behind him had been smoldering quietly, not set up in quite the right way to spread swiftly on its own; with Hayame out of the way he can address that properly. A deep breath as he wills the flow of magic through his veins, then gestures with his hand, urging the fire to spread outwards. Embers spit and jump through the air as heat crackles, starting to swiftly eat away at the storage area itself, as well as the foodstuffs contained within. One more application of the same spell, and most of the stuff stored here is guaranteed to be burnt beyond use in short order.
There has to be more damage he can do, though. The quick double-application of the spell on top of the strain of maintaining his disguise is starting to wear at him, but Gen still breathes a ragged huff as he starts to move from where he'd been standing, scanning his surroundings for another easy target to burn down --
and that fucking arrow rips past his side.
The wound's deep enough to hamper his movements, and certainly enough to hurt, but not enough to completely incapacitate him. Gen does fall back a step, a hand pressed to his side where the split in his flesh is already starting to gush red, slightly doubled over from the pain, but his gaze immediately fixes on Hayame through that narrow gap between the shelters. ]
Zero fucking hesitation, huh ...
[ A spiteful mutter to himself under his breath. And past the shimmer of the flames, Hayame might spot the image of "Liem" starting to warp from more than the heat -- black starting to bleed into the pale of his hair, flickers of canine features ghosting into view, his entire outline blurring. Too bad she won't get more than a second to get a good look, because the next moment Gen swipes his hand towards Hayame, sending the growing jumping skipping over the row of nearby shelters, straight at her. ]
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And Hayame meets it back with a cold, storming fury completely unhampered by the loss of half her own. Something warps and blurs around the edges of "Liem"'s figure, an indication of it perhaps being illusion or magic instead of possession...
Good. She'd rather not kill Liem a second time. But even if she'd had to...
Zero fucking hesitation.
He manipulates the flames and sends them surging in her direction, the heat a sudden burst of force at the vanguard that whips Hayame's long ebon mane and tail around wildly... but it passes, and the fire is coming in its wake. Horses were afraid of such things, bewildered and panicked in the face of the flames... But Hayame has the mind and hearts of a warrior (woman), and she is not. She stands her ground... and she fires another arrow straight at her enemy, whoever it was... before she casts her own spell.
A near transparent shield springs into subtly shimmering existence around her body, and she leaps forward with a snarl, another arrow notched and fired before her front hooves even reach the ground and begin to tear up the distance between them in a breakneck charge.]
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But whether or not she recognizes what that flash of metal might signify probably doesn't matter much. Because the next fired arrow will give her enough to figure out who this wretched imposter is.
Before the arrow can find its mark, the earth before 'Liem' splits and erupts upwards, an explosion of dirt and rocks knocking the arrow off its path and sending it spinning off to the side instead. Magic that Hayame can surely recognize and pinpoint as belonging to a particularly loathsome someone.
On his end, Gen can tell the jig is up. Of fucking course this bitch would be the one to end up throwing a wrench in his plan. Though he gives one last swipe of the hand as he turns away, willing the flames to spread as far as possible, he otherwise decides to beat a hasty retreat. Before the thundering of Hayame's hooves can come even close to reaching him, he simply melts into the dirt and glides away faster than any human can run, hidden within the earth.
Too bad he probably underestimates how the smell of his blood carries even through the layer of dirt, marking his path as he darts for the edge of the Meridian encampment where he can emerge. ]
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That irreverent, traitorous brat. The one wearing Liem's face, perhaps even taking some sort of perverse pleasure in trying to mock and insult her with it, was the Earth Mover. Minegishi Gen. ... If only she'd succeeded in putting that arrow between his shoulder blades on the streets of Verena, how much trouble she would have saved herself. Saved Meridian. Saved everyone.
Hayame's forehooves hit the ground and she stumbles the landing just slightly on upturned rock, but there is no time to prance around the broken earth and debate whether to follow him or not. The spreading fire was hardly subtle, she could surely trust the others to discover it and fight it, but even if they didn't... What did she care? She cares about the Objects, about victory... and about revenge. Despite the fact that she was willing to kill Gen for his cowardly attack on the Prism with Amos, that bullshit invisibility and his mocking laugh echoing in the air, she had promised to cede that right to Set, once she learned he had the greater claim with his son held hostage.
... Not anymore. She would make sure Gen understood that his death was partly to do with those acts, for the sake of the war god... but that is all the courtesy she is now willing to extend. Not after he'd had the gall to sneak into their camp, to wear her friend's face, to insult her so nakedly... But she has to catch him first.
He moves faster than a human could usually run, his pace augmented by the soil, but he does not move much faster than a jinba. She throws herself into pursuit at a full gallop, tearing up the brief head start that he has and clearing the gap, following through the dark the scent of blood and the signs of cracking dirt until they reach the end of camp, the earth begins to burst open to release their now shit-stained son...
And Hayame is there, bearing down on him the second he emerges with a half ton of flashing hooves and snarling jinba ready to trample him.]
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This is going to suck, he knows.
And he's right, of course.
Gen emerges from the earth with a gasp, having pushed his time underneath to the limits in order to try and widen the gap between himself and Hayame. No dice, unfortunately, but at least the momentum he's built and the extra time he's used to prepare means he isn't immediately killed by a hoof to the skull.
The dirt beneath Hayame's feet explodes upwards, a shower of clods and rocks partially obfuscating the outlines of Gen's figure as he launches himself out into the open air. It permits him to get away from the first attempting to trample him with just a few close calls -- a glancing kick that clips his ribcage and only fractures instead of shattering, a heavy stomp that just barely misses his temple as it thuds into the earth just beside his head. Dirt flies as Gen hits the ground at a roll, hands clawing into the earth as he manages to right himself into a kneeling crouch even before he's skidded to a halt; already the pain ripping through his chest is rendering his breaths shallow and his face pale, canine ears flattened back into his hair. And while he's unfortunately positioned himself in the perfect spot for Hayame to rear up and cave his skull in --
the earth beneath her back hooves destabilizes the next moment, erupting upwards on one side and caving in on the other. Probably only enough to stall her, maybe trip her up. He'd intended on upending her entirely, but his magic is proving oddly difficult to control at the moment, perhaps because of his exhaustion? Either way, it should be enough for him to dodge immediate death for a few moments longer. Probably. Maybe. ]
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The magical shield she had thrown up before beginning her pursuit protects her from the slice and scrape of scattering rocks, though it still accomplishes obscuring his body. Her hooves strike, though, she can feel it. Not feel, she had little tactile sense compared to human hands, but she knows the give of dirt and the give of flesh, the sound of soil and the sound of bone. It wasn't enough, though, he half recovers, she rears up with forelegs lashing out and ready to bring her weight down on his skull-
Again, the earth betrays her in his presence. She's ready for betrayal when he's around, now, though. Her back legs falter, she has to bring her forelegs down for balance and to surge out of the holes rather than to strike... but she has more than equine legs to her.
Like the human-seeming fingers that reaches out to snatch a tight handful of Gen's shirt... and drag him half off the ground to come with her as she throws herself back into a gallop to keep moving, not linger anywhere to make it easier for him to collapse the dirt beneath her hooves. Her lips are twisted in a vengeful sneer, but from his angle... it might just look like a twisted smile, all sharp teeth.]
You should have kept your tail tucked between your legs and hid after Set's beating, dog!
[He likely had not realized that she and Dimitri had caught up in pursuit of the stolen Prism in time to see the tail end of that encounter from a distance... But she had. She'd also listened to the god claim Gen's punishment in the aftermath... and she had reluctantly been willing to cede her own claim over that cowardly invisible trick in favor of Set's stronger, more personal grudge. But after what he'd done... ?]
You are mine to "punish" now!
[And she wasn't a fickle war god who for some reason coveted his precious little Zeniths that were fighting to destroy his world and his son. As far as she concerned, especially when an Oracle was at stake... the only "punishment" those that entered the battlefield deserved was dissipation or death. If they happened to be one who had insulted her time after time, betrayed Meridian, and attempted to masquerade as one of the few people in this godforsaken place that she trusted... ?
Hayame ends her declaration with a snarl and a sudden, rough and scrambling brake of her gallop, moving to toss the hound-earred man back in front of her as if he didn't weigh any more than a puppy. Her freed up hand immediately goes to her quiver, brings an arrow to the bowstring, ready to deliver her judgement at the more civilized tip of a weapon...
Because with the chaotic, violent chase, the ground covered... they are now at the edge of a "cliff" created by a shovel-dug trench half-finished in the garden. Where is he going to run this time?]
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Fingers tangle into the front of his shirt. Fabric digs into his back and sides as he's yanked up by that grip -- a move he's pulled on others many times, which he hypocritically hates being on the receiving end of. But before he can even think to fight it, there's the thunder of hooves against the ground as Hayame surges forth. The jolting movement alone has his next breath coming short as he almost bites his tongue, and Gen reflexively reaches up to claw at her arm, struggling to loosen her grip and free himself. Too bad being carried like so gives him close to zero leverage, and his clawing at Hayame's arm only succeeds in leaving behind scratchmarks and welts across her skin. The jostling movements give him no room to focus, and the vicious crush of her hooves against the ground kicks up rocks and clods of dirt that pelt him from behind, rattling his thoughts further.
And somehow, in the midst of it all, what pisses him off is the most is the fact that Hayame had seen the way Set had beaten him. Not because of the embarrassment of that sound defeat -- that's a factor, but a minor one. But because that was between him and Set. Knowing this loose-lipped bitch, who can't keep her fucking mouth shut despite all her blathering on about honor, saw what happened has his nerves prickling sharp, and Gen digs his nails into Hayame's forearm with a choked snarl. ]
-- you wish you could hurt me like he did, you psycho!
[ Ironic words to be spitting right before Hayame throws him down, smashing the air from his lungs. Gen hits the ground at a rolling skid, left wheezing for air when he comes to a halt. Every muscle in his body aches from the impact, like he's been put through a fucking spin cycle; it takes all his effort just to drag himself onto all fours and raise his head. Looking straight up at that arrow aimed his way.
Where is he going to run? Nowhere. There's nowhere to run. ]
Fuck you. [ He's too drained to dive back down. And whatever the hell it is Hayame's doing to impair his magic is working too well -- he can't move drastically enough to hurt Hayame back properly. (And there's nothing more pathetic than a last gasp struggle that doesn't even accomplish anything.) It's mostly spite that drive him to using that spell to don Liem's face one last time, right as the bowstring's pulled to the peak -- rasping in his voice as he looks her in the eyes: ] As if you'll ever be honorable, no matter how hard to thrash --
[ The arrow punctures his throat the next moment.
Or rather -- it punctures through the spot where shoulder meets throat, lodging itself firmly in that flesh with the bright spray of blood and kept in place by tenuous strings of skin and the fabric of his shirt. The impact alone is enough to rip the breath from him; the shock and the rapid loss of blood that follows shortly have his consciousness flickering. And as Gen is knocked over that cliff, just before his spell fades, he gives Hayame a look of quiet resentment while still wearing Liem's face. Then he plunges over the edge towards the dirt below. ]
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But he puts Liem's face on again.
Did he think she was so weak that she would not attack a man who had called her his friend? Was it a last ditch effort at hurting her, when she had already broken that man's neck beneath the roots, when she knew it was just the pathetic Zenite Minegishi Gen masquerading as a better man? The rage boils up inside of her, blood drips from the scratches he'd left on her arm, her fingers twitch on the bowstring as she snarls in disgust-
And the arrow flew.
Her arrows were larger, thicker, heavier than a human could fire, custom made for the strength an size of a jinba and the powerful bows they could wield. It punches through his throat (doesn't it?), it sends him over the cliff...
And Hayame is left standing there with nothing more having been said. A moment passes, two, before belatedly she scrambles after him, ready to pursue him, to make sure she shattered his accursed shard beneath her hoof herself whether it would be stealing the kill from her own god or not... But it is too steep. She was a field jinba, not a mountain jinba, she would be risking her legs if she tried to get down there from here and locate his body in the shadows of the weeds beneath the "cliff"... and the time it would take her to run around and down...
She turns, seeing the blaze catching in the Meridian camp. She turns back, peering into the darkness below.
In the end... Hayame spits off the side of the cliff after him and twists about with a prace, galloping back to raise the alarm and fight the fire. Once it was quenched, she would go back for his shard.]