Post by Joliette Thorne on Jun 2, 2008 22:15:12 GMT -5
One moment she was speaking to frightened woman, and though Joliette was street-hardened and hardly sympathetic, she was glad of the company in this strange place. One moment... and the next she touched the wall, and the wall had drawn her in like a sucking mouth, depositing her back into the white-walled maze, the thief landing again on the black stone paving so oddly fitted together. "Dammit..." She rubbed at a sore spot as she rose, pressed her hands back against the wall, pushing, finally giving it a futile shove that had her backing up, trembling with rage and fear. "Garath!" She spoke the name like a curse, a plea, an accusation. Why had not her criminal mentor told her of this trap? Perhaps he wanted her dead. Her thirst was overwhelming. Before and behind her lay a path, in every way identical to all the other paths here. Kicking the wall a last time, a curse on her lips as it took the skin off her toe, marring the snowy surface with a streak of blood, she started walking.
Micaelis was nowhere near as adept at sensing magic as mages, or even his former rune-mage masters, but he was well aware of something foreboding lingering within the ship. When he saw Tenebrae, he hadn't been able to keep himself from giving chase, shouting her name in caution. However, the woman did not heed his calls. Micaelis awoke in the darkness, remembering a fall. However, his rune powered battle armor could withstand a lot of punishment, and a fall trip to the ground would not suffice to render him unconscious. This was the work of magic... Micaelis heard shouts echoing throughout the strange maze, and they weren't far from his position at all. Breaking into a sprint with hopes of catching the voices owner, Micaelis moved with speed that far surpassed his human brethren. Well not he, moreso his armor... The runes etched throughout the inside of it that were responsible for making it respond to his bodily movements via a magical, telekinetic force were still working. That meant his armor might afford him some resistance against this places magics because of other magical symbols and marks writ throughout the battle suit of steel plate mail. Then Micaelis ruled out the thought... If he were so perfectly protected, what put him to sleep? No... this place was even more elaborate than the very runes he constructed into his armor, which meant the magics in this place were superbly designed for their purposes, whatever they might be... Micaelis grabbed hold of a corner, skidding around it into a halt to find Tenebrae. "There ya are! Didn’t ya hear me out there tellin' ya not to come in here?!" he shouted, scolding her. Then Micaelis sighed relievedly. "At least you're ok," though his voice was aged and harsh, it bore a soft note that time.
Eyes wide. She backed up. One hand to the belt, for the knife that was not there. The other snapped downward... the wire "bracelet" she wore, her garrotte, the 'bloody wire' she was notorious for among Vailkrin's seedier denizens... also not there. Heart thudding. What the hells.... The man who so suddenly appeared -- from the very corner she'd only just turned, from a path that'd been empty only seconds before-- was he dangerous? His armour and demeanour spoke of a warrior, and one a damned sight stronger than the tiny, barefooted woman staring at him. Her eyes, still the same lustrous and telltale peridot hue, shifted left and right, and she took a cautious step backward. "I... uh..." Was he a lunatic? He'd called her... some odd name, seemed to recognise her. Perhaps he was delusional. And she wasn't about to buddy up with a crazed fighter, not in a place like this. "I'm not.. who you're looking for. Alright?" Her smile was placating, tremulous. if she could just distract him. She was fast. Almost as fast as Garath. "Oh my Gods!" She looked over Micaelis' shoulder with an expression of horror, hoping he'd divert his gaze-- just for a second.
Micaelis peered at her through his full helm, and the first thing he noted was her inability to remember his name. Micaelis may have also been able to recognize her fear of him, were he not so used to doing battle with opponents as expressionless as the full helm that covered his face. "Tenebrae, do you not recognize me? It's me, Micaelis." He spread his arms wide to show he bore no ill intentions. "We met just days ago. The magics in this place must be playin' with yer head!" his voice rose a little, unintentionally and out of frustration for the situation. Then, the sharp sound of terror in her voice struck Micaelis, and he wheeled around in a flash as his armor snapped into action, responding to his body’s first whim. One of his hands fell to the swordless hilt at his side, gripping it firmly. Then--he saw there was no one--and his grip on the handle laxed.
Joliette was convinced now-- the man was mad. Drunk.. Or up to something...dear gods, she prayed he was not one of the soldiers she and Garath had preyed on so often of late, soused city guards stumbling home from the Hanging Corpse, from which she'd long been banned... In any case, she only keep smiling at he spoke, nodding politely until her faux horror. The ruse proved to work, and the second his eyes lifted from her, she turned and ran. By the time the warrior turned back, the thief would be merely a monochromatic streak dashing for the far junction of the path, black hair flying in a silken flag behind her, white limbs straining to carry her as far from the man, and as fast, as possible. Almost losing her footing, she half-slid around the corner to the path branching left. Only then did she risk turning, chagrined at the spare second that action cut off her flight, and did not find his tall form behind her. Yet. Breath ragged, dehydration taking its toll, she put on a burst of speed, heading for the next juncture.
Micaelis whipped back around the moment he heard the patter of small feet over the floor. While it was true that the woman moved fast, the arcane forces that drove his armor could make it move a lot faster... In barely an instant, Micaelis gave chase to the woman, breaking out into yet another sprint. The aging man didn't know why he chased her, exactly. He figured it might be out of concern for her safety, or more selfishly yet, Lorn's... Strange questions began to flood Micaelis' mind: ones that troubled his conscience. He didn't know what to make of it, and equated these sudden concerns to the magics of this eerie ship toying with his mind. As he moved through the maze, which had yet to turn on him, he was a gleaming streak of silver. His footsteps heavily padded the earth, clanking his armor with every step. It didn't take him long to catch the young woman, and with the rune inside his helm that kept a steady inflow of weak healing magics pouring into his body, stamina was seldom an issue unless Micaelis became wounded. Reaching out with a gauntleted hand, he attempted to grab her. His hold would be rough, just shy of bone crushing due to the armor's over-responsiveness. Micaelis had gotten pretty good at measuring out his actions in relation to his armor's reactions, but every now and then he slipped up, and this was one of those times....
Joliette flung herself forward, the clank of the soldier's armoured feet behind her ringing like dull and ominous knells on the black stone path. The sound grew closer, and closer.. her lungs burned, her throat was parched as a desert dune, and even her eyes were stingingly dry. She couldn't evade him much longer. This fact accepted, she slowed herself minutely, wincing at the sharp cramps that pinched her side. Her one hope was that he wouldn't kill her .. or whatever he was after.. right away. He wasn't enraged, just oddly determined, deluded, she'd figured that much, so it was without too much terror that the thief found her waist gripped by a powerful arm, ribs even more painfully compressed by his hold. Her body would appear to give in to his clutching, as prey acquiesces at last to a predator, her back colliding with his armour plating. Yes, let him think... as his hold tightened, Joliette would arc backward, raise a slender arm to find a grip on the edge of the plating at the back of his neck, knees bending so that bare feet pressed on his legs, providing leverage for her to lift herself upward. His grip on her waist only aided her rise, while her other hand sought his visor, fingers splaying to help her thumb locate a slot in the covering, and hopefully gouge an eye. Something she learned young, from sheer necessity: a man found it hard to chase a woman when in agony, and harder when half-blind. Speed was on her side, and surprise. Now, if only Luck held out...
Micaelis was no fool to her game. He knew that whenever anyone was reaching for his visor, they were up to no good. A lightning fast, plated hand darted up to snatch her at the wrist, and then brought it easily down to her side. This time, his grip would not be so uncomfortable. "Settle down, woman! I'm not going to hurt ya! You 'n me, I think we're seeing two different things." Though Micaelis did not have her wrist uncomfortably, there would be no prying his hand open. Her slender form could yank and jerk and try to escape all it wanted, but it was more than likely he had her now. "Listen to me... Think hard, lass... Have you seen anything that just wasn't quite right in here? Something that just doesn't fit what's goin' on 'round you exactly?" he asked, hoping to talk sense into his former would be companion.
Spitfire, hellcat… sure, she struggled, but Joliette was no fool, either. He wasn't going to harm her, so the next course of action was humouring the man. "Aye..." She let her form go limp, still clutched in his hold. "It is passing strange, this place." This, spoken between panted breaths, her voice made hoarse by unquenched thirst. Her stomach was sick with it, and her exertion. "Nowhere.. I have seen before." All around was the white walls, the apparently endless black stone path. "Where are we?"
Micaelis was growing wise to the game she played with him by now. The woman had already displayed her cunning once, and he wasn't going to fall for it so easily a second time. What really gave her away was when she asked Micaelis where she was. The aged man already knew she had it blueprinted in her mind she was somewhere definite. "I might as well be talking to the wall," he said with a sigh, but refused to give up on Tenebrae. "And you really shouldn't be askin' me where we are. It was I who followed you into this place. I bet if I told ya we were in the belly of some strange ship you'd think I'm mad... But that's understandable, you're head hasn't been on quite right." Micaelis looked left, and then right. "Come on, we're leavin'. You can either come with me willingly, or I can drag ya out of the belly of this ship kickin' and screaming. It makes no difference to me. I won't feel a thing. So what's it gonna be?"
A ship? Aye, the man was suffering the delusions of drink, or a blow to the head. His gruff words had her pondering trying to make another break for it-- where would he take her, in this never-ending maze? The thief, though her cunning and the paranoid mind her mentor had endowed her with screamed for her to fight, still found reason nestling in her skull. This.. Micaelis.. might lead them both to a thirsty death, or worse, but she'd not achieved much better wandering alone. And maybe.. just maybe, he knew the way out. "I'll go quietly." The phrase was almost instinctual, words spoken all too often to city protectors, most often before Garath's deadly knives found their throats. If only he was here... wherever 'here' was.
Micaelis let go of her wrist, and spoke in a tone that was soft, despite his rough, elderly voice, "I know right now you don't trust me any farther than you can throw me, Tenebrae, but remember these words: We're going to find a way out of this place together, and I won't be content to leave ya here, especially considering you're the reason I came in. Don't betray my trust and scamper off on me. Before this is done you're going to realize I'm all you've got." Nary a word more to be spoken, Micaelis started to press forward, in search for a way out. The aged man sighed quietly, thoughts drifting to that of the Hanging Corpse. He wanted nothing more right now than to be back there with a stiff glass of whisky in hand, Tenebrae in a chair opposite of his own, perhaps even beside it, and discussing whatever just so happened to come to mind. Micaelis didn't tempt himself with such thoughts for too long, though. In a place like this they could become all too real far too quickly, and then what he considered to be freedom would be his very prison.
She didn't know why he was calling her "Tenebrae". Odd name. Not as pretty as her own, that was certain. But she'd humour him again, finding sincerity in his tone. It was something to work with-- and she really he was all she had, anyway. Here, at least. Turning to face him, seeking upward to find the glint of his eyes through the slats of his visor, she nodded. "Alright." She padded silently after him, as she so often had after Garath as a child. That might explain the strangely familiar feeling that washed over her then, her gaze on the man's broad back, a kind of déjà vu, fleeting and only adding to the puzzle she found herself in.
Micaelis kept moving onward, thankful for the sound of slight footsteps behind him. The high walls that encased the two seemed so similar to Micaelis, that every new place he ventured felt like the last. The aged man let his mind drift a little as they walked, considering his surroundings, and the potential magics his suit was keeping him safe from. So far Micaelis figured he was lucky, as he suffered no delusion or hallucinations. He figured his armor was doing his job against whatever magics filled this place well. This newly found confidence in his rune craftsmanship was crushed, however, upon turning a corner. He stood upon an endless plain, beneath a dark sky. His first concern was Tenebrae--and the armored man whipped around to ensure she was still there--she was.. "Tenebrae... You seeing what I'm seeing?" he asked, worriedly.. "Describe it to me..."
The thief made a soft sound of disapproval, having almost run into the back of Micaelis, and was forced to step back when he turned, to make comfortable space between them. "Name's Joliette." Might as well get that straight. "And see what...?" She'd step around him, to where the gleaming white suddenly began to dim, and the walls seemed to fade into a kind of murky grey. "What's happened to..." Peridot eyes were sharp on him, flitting back to the changed landscape a second later. Her voice was quiet. "This place. It's madness. That's what it is." Daring a few steps forward, she found the grey increasing substantially until, when she turned back to look at the former runeguard, he seemed a long way off. "I see... a nothingness. A big patch of nothing."
Micaelis could still see Tenebrae, or as she preferred to call herself, 'Joliette.' "Aye... Well I'm seeing a harsh plain and darkened skies... Stay near, this place is obviously tryin' to fool with our heads!" he cautioned, voice urgent. Then--a shimmering blue light seemed to materialize out of nowhere--pulling itself together into strange shapes. Some of them kind of resembled humans, and others beasts. Each of them shared one definite thing in common, however. They had Tenebrae and Micaelis surrounded. Micaelis picked out four separate figures, and somewhere off in the horizon, there was a fifth. It was a silhouette, human, and apparently a male in its design. The glow left the lighted shapes, and their forms became much sharper and identifiable. "Constructs!" Micaelis shouted, aged and rough voice swelling with frustration that mingled with surprise. His head jutted from left to right as he frantically spun about, taking each one of them in as quickly as he could. They were all made from steel. Two had the rather large, fierce builds of golems, and had differently shaped midriffs but similar heads. The other two appeared more animalistic. One resembled a distorted lion, large and with many rows of sharp teeth. The other a snake... It had a long, narrow body that coiled. How the alloy bent like that was beyond Micaelis, but they were certainly nice pieces of handiwork. Micaelis drew the swordless handle from his hip, and flicked it off to the side. "Vamorae!" the word couldn't have left his lips any faster. Arcane energies crackled into existence, springing out from the rune covered hilt to form a shimmering blue blade. The markings etched along its surface were set aglow, blazing with a whitish light. "All right ya bastards! Lets see just how tough the stuff yer made outta is!" Micaelis pressed his back up against Tenebrae, and flung an arm back around her body. He wasn't holding her, but hoped he could use it to slow the charge of a construct that'd likely move in on him from behind, which was where she just so happened to be. Micaelis hadn't fought for anyone besides himself in a great awhile... It felt awkward to be weakening his own stance for the sake of bolstering someone else’s defences...
She was beginning to understand this place. Well, a smidgeon better than she had when she'd first become aware she was in it. It messed with people's heads, alright. Joli wondered whether the woman with the trident on the dark side of the wall had been real, and suffering her own delusions, or an element of the place itself. This musing was shaken from her mind, replaced with a sharp intake of breath, as a blue haze shifted through the vast expanse of grey, and left behind it several odd --and, she hated to admit, terrifying-- forms. They would have not been visible at all, save for the strange markings that appeared to run both across their surfaces and -within- them. Constructs. The word summoned a flash-image of a fireside, and she couldn't have guessed why, even were her mind not reeling with the events at hand. As the runeguard moved to shield her, she could only surmise by the near-panic evident in his cry that what they faced was deadly. What -he- faced... she was weaponless, and even had she her weapons, they were better suited to robbing drunks and picking locks than battling with... whatever these things were. "Magic, right? All's I see is some kinda weird writin', makin' their shape." Her voice was sharp, rising over a strange hum that grew louder as the beings approached. "How do we fight 'em?"
Micaelis kept the expressionless gaze of his full helm forward, staring at the two steel beastlike beings that had his front. He'd cant his head only slightly, attempting to steal a glance at Tenebrae without removing the constructs from his sight. His free hand dipped to the holster at his left hip, pulling out a sleek, barreled wand covered in glyphs and strange symbols. Micaelis clicked back the hammer of the odd device, and handed it back to Tenebrae. "Just point it at one of the big bastards and pull the trigger. Be sure to reset the hammer before trying to use it again," he instructed, not bothering to go into detail as to why it had to be done that way.
You :: Ahh, that was better. A weapon in her hand, no matter how odd, was better than none. Joli watched one of the two-legged things moving around them in an arc, bringing itself closer. She pushed Micaelis' arm away -- he'd need it, for his balance, and in a move she'd practised many times with Garath in their sundry gangfights, brawls and failed robberies, flattened her back against her companion's, making her body fluid, lithe, matching his every move with her own, to form a single fighter, with two minds, two weapons. An odd, back-to-back dance indeed, but handy for dealing with a mob. Her thumb sought the trigger, merely resting near it. She'd allow her eyes to shift from the circling, almost ghostly 'constructs', just for a second, to the weapon, which she assumed was a light-blade, like his own. By the time she looked up, Micaelis was moving, and she with him, and there were two of them rapidly approaching her side of the battle Pointing the hilt toward the closest, her thumb hit the trigger and the same strange hum was suddenly near a shriek as the weapon's magic burst into a blaze of light.
Micaelis heard the sound of the weapon he gave Tenebrae discharge it's powerful magics behind him. A bright purple bolt of vicious arcane energies sailed forth from the contraption, wailing through the air. The devastating ball of power slammed into the chest of the golem-esque creature, blowing it open and melting it in. Shrapnel was hurled forward from the explosive force of the magic projectile, and lucky for Tenebrae, Micaelis knew it would be. Grabbing her by the wrist, he switched sides with her, turning into the rain of heated metal to shield her soft, unprotected body.. It pelted his armor, chinking against its surface like rainwater. The blasted construct was silent and motionless, a gaping crater in its chest that was glowing hot around the rim. Then it fell to the ground. "One down!" cried Micaelis, glee laden in his elderly, grizzled voice at the destruction of a much hated variety of foe. Micaelis knew Tenebrae wouldn't be able to click the hammer back fast enough and take aim again to let another shot fly, and the constructs were all rushing in now. Micaelis softly turned in his armor, the magically powered battle suit responding to his movements via magical, telekinetic forces due to a number of carefully etched runes chiselled throughout the inside of his armor. Over responsive to his will, but no more so than Micaelis hoped, it jerked Tenebrae through the air, hurling her a safe distance away from the scene. He had no doubts her landing would be rough, but at least from there she'd have time to take aim and squeeze off another devastating shot. However, in the time it took Micaelis to do that, the remaining golem-like creature had already seized him by the throat in its massive hand. The construct hefted Micaelis from the earth with little trouble, and leveled their faces... Both were expressionless.. The golems because it didn't have one, and Micaelis' was because of his helm. The bevor at his neck kept his air supply from being choked off. "Just try n' end it then!" he shouted in the monstrosities face, thrusting his arcane sword into its body, running the steely construct through. The metal glowed red hot around the piercing, but the runes weren't there... Micaelis felt a twinge of fear, knowing he struck the wrong spot. With a massive fling of its large, powerful arm, the construct hurled him away, sending the armored runeguard tumbling over the earth in a mess of flapping limbs.
Joli had been aiming at the ...other... golem. Okay, so forefinger trigger, not thumb. Check. The woman barely had time to make the thought before she was flying through the air, ragdolled, to land in a skewiff heap of limbs, the thud driving air out of her utterly. The weapon sprang from splayed fingers that prevented a broken elbow, and was clutched up again while she struggled to suck a breath into her rattled body, desperately fumbling to reload, eyes locked on the golem who.. dammit, no clear shot, and Micaelis by the throat. Could she risk it? Or would he... Yes! The runeguard's sword pierced the construct's body, invisible to her but for the runes.. that remained uninterrupted. Taking aim, she held the wand-hilt-thing steady, more sure of her actions this time, and judged the risk to Micaelis worth it. But before she could get the shot off, the construct had obligingly thrown him, and she had a good, clear... Bam! Her hand buzzed and tingled with the unfamiliar energies discharged, and the golem-formed construct stood only a moment longer, swaying like a one-legged drunk while runes fizzed and spluttered out like dying comet-tails, to leave it entirely unable to be seen by the thief. No time to find Micaelis, she swivelled on her butt at the sound of the next runebeast approaching, fumbled again at the weapon, little or no time to load, nor any to gain her feet.. a dragon's tail of lights wended its way toward her rapidly, serpentine and deadly.
The walls mocked her as she stirred, limbs stiff and sore; lips bloodied and feet scabbed. A cocky grin took to her lips as she rose, for which demented reasons even she could not hint at beneath the layers of psychosis that had taken her mind. Vilaelia picked at her like fleas at flesh mottled with sores, and the effect slowly drove the chinks out of her defenses like well aimed picks at walls. She wasn't making much sense any more, as she wandered and the floor steadily became colder. Vaguely aware she was being hunted, there wasn't much more she could do than move, and sleep, and wait to die. She had known it would come eventually. Now the creature looked for a good place to give her final sacrifice: a pittance for the place she had once ruled. So she moved, idly wandering through the white-walled paths that circled like vultures. They deserved a smile. When the vines crept up through the pathway and onto the walls, stabbing thorns into her, she roused slightly, and only to greet them with a flat-eyed glare that did not give them much in way of regard. When the mist rose to choke her by the throat, and obscure her vision, she merely sighed, and breathed more deeply of the air. When the walls drew away and led to a sandy clearing that made her grunt with the effort to keep moving. . .well, it was then that she stilled, and she understood more clearly. A glance behind gave the barest inkling of a retreat: the walls wavered and beckoned at her to return to her hazy existence. But no. She had come to face whatever strove to pin her like a mouse. She would face it with teeth bared and eyes open, glaring wildly. She moved forward, and it was then that the mist clears and the vines made a path for her. Her blood fed the sand until that too firmed into good, thick earth. When she reached the center -- and how she knew that center from a foot to the side was the barest flicker of instinct -- she stopped, and waited. Before her reined Hunt, in all glorious wonder. Silver clawed, golden maned, wicked eyed, and haughty bearing as She postured large and terrible before the creature. The mist retreated, red-tinged: guarding the place from the rest of the Labyrinth. The creature did not bow, or scrape, or incline her head. She faced Her as an equal. "Good hunting."
Micaelis laid still for a few moments, then used his hands to push himself up off the ground. When he'd been flung, he dropped his sword, but thankfully, he'd let it go close to him. Picking up the blade, Micaelis forced himself to his knees. Upon leveling the gaze of his full helm with the horizon in Tenebrae's direction, the first thing to fill his vision was a lion-like creature made entirely from steel. The monster was all fangs and claws, ready to spill the plated man's blood and crush him under its pounce. The second was Tenebrae, and in even greater peril than himself. With urgency so great it stressed his body, Micaelis sprang into a jump, then with a kick, bounded from the approaching constructs head. The steely beast was thrust into the ground face first, leaving a large indention in the plain that kicked up grass and dirt. Micaelis' armored form sailed through the air, fastly approaching the snake-like construct. Gravity was in control now, bringing the runeguard down fast and hard upon his beastly adversary. With a slash that ended in a rather messy tackle, Micaelis' energetic blade seared the steely serpents head, leaving the neck glowing hot. The lower half of its long figure thrashed, heading violently into the horizon where the silhouette stood with its arms folded over its chest, unmoving like a statue. Micaelis, on the other hand, nearly tumbled into Tenebrae. Slowing to a stop just moments before she'd be crushed by his bulky, rolling form. Micaelis groaned, registering a sharp pain in his ankle. "Think it's broke." He murmured, then attempted to sit up. However, all was not done. The Lion-like construct still remained, and was heading right at them both.
All was a blur of light and motion, screeching metal and the dull, roaring hum of magic. Then the runes that blazed like stars winked out, the headless creature dividing to flickering portions, then vanishing, and an armoured form near-flattened her. Joliette couldn't move fast enough.. in both the literal and colloquial senses of the phrase. Something told her she should have more power behind her movements, but muscles and mind seemed at odds. None of this was a conscious thought, though, merely a bodily impression as she rolled from the runeguard's path, arighting herself with the still-ready weapon aimed at the construct-- a blue streak of charging lights. Knees drawn up, she had the sword aimed, primed... the lion-shaped thing was near on top of them both, and when it exploded to a blue-and-purple crescendo of metal bits and fire, the sudden weight that pinned her leg down, impaled through her calf with a sharp shard or fang, was merely a presence, nothing visible, though the blood she was losing was bright enough. "Ugh..." Rocking forward, her fingers groped at ...nothingness... but it was a weighted nothing that would not budge, except to rip her flesh further. Looking to Micaelis, hoping the man wasn't too injured to lend her a hand, she merely made a soft whine, speech beyond her at this point. And it might've been the blood loss, the fear, a remnant after-image light echoed in her vision, but for a moment she could swear she saw a red haze drifting, two figures looming, her own sight swimming. Blood-loss, she decided, and fell back to rest her head on the grey and featureless ground.
Elsewhere, actions and movements tripped the walls of the Labyrinth, explosions of sound trickling into the curtain and hollow that housed the Hunt and the creature. Within her, Vilaelia was squirming, plucking at her skin in such a way that it crawled. Before her, the Hunt smiled cold and cruel. "You wish well." Her voice growled and crept up into the creature's mind, resonating there. This embodiment had often sung hints and taunts to the creature, who had always responded with a pleasure that near wrung the heart out with the thrill of it. Her breath quickened, but she held firm: trembling in the echoing silence that held so much promise she could breathe the taste of it. Euphoria. Creature neither moved forward nor backward. She held her ground, and gave solidly to Hunt what she always had. "What does the Hunt wish?" Her voice was strong, the broken wholeness of it resonating an odd vibrancy to the place. It became clearer, the focus increasing so that every blade of grass and leaf was painfully sharp to her sight, cutting a swath behind the magnificence that was Hunt. Yet She did not give much of a glance to creature, that cold smile hinting at things that might have passed -- such a magnitude that near set creature to trembling. "Who are you, little one, who travel My walkways and stalk My prey? Are you My little one? You stink of the foul places, them-who-have-forgotten. Who do you belong to? Which path do you tread?" Creature swallowed at that line of questioning, palms wetting with anticipation; skin slicking sweet against the brush of the air that curried her tongue and courted her fingertips. She could not answer. So many years and years had passed, and she could not answer. There were many who tickled at her mind, held a bit of her within their careful pads. Creature closed her eyes, and a flicker of her old vivacity returned. "There are two ." she answered, and lifted her eyes to meet the obsidian glare of Hunt. The game was on.
Micaelis had managed to sit up just as the lion's head pinned Tenebrae's leg to the ground. Forcing himself to his feet, Micaelis moved over to the giant mass of steel keeping her down. "Hold on Tenebrae, don't you quit on me!" he called to her, concern and desperation cracking his elderly, hard voice. Squatting down, Micaelis gripped the head of the construct and lifted it from the ground. The whole while he could feel the stress on his broken ankle. Pain ticked at his mind, wearing him down physically as he carried the massive piece of metal a few short steps away from Tenebrae and dropped it to the ground. It made a loud thud, sizable indention in the grass, but little else. Micaelis then turned back to Tenebrae, who lay bleeding rather profusely on the ground. Walking over to her, he knelt down and removed his helmet, laying it beside them both. Plated arms wrapped themselves around her slim figure, bringing her to his chest. "Tenebrae, I want you to bite my neck and suck my blood. Know it or not you're a vampire... I know this sounds strange, but please, trust me..." the proud old runeguard was almost pleading. Worry riddled his aged, scarred features, and the sharp line of his jaw was tense. Micaelis lifted her head and body a little higher and craned his neck to give her easy access. "Bite me, and don't take any more than you need. Do it..." Micaelis swallowed, fixing the gaze of his good eye dead ahead of himself.
He was insane. That explained it. He was insane-- or she was. This was an asylum, this place a pit of lunacy in the depths of her own cracked mind. Or she was dead, gutted finally by one of Garath's many mortal enemies and lying in some dim alleyway, a corpse, whose spirit was sent to the hell she had always known was waiting. His arms seemed real enough, though, the scent of blood overwhelming. Was he a demon? She was so, so thirsty... His throat pulsed. She could -hear- it, like the hum of magic. Just a bite, maybe one, just the one, only for the liquid to wet her arid tongue. But how..? She ran that sandpaper-textured muscle over white, even teeth. Vampire, indeed. But there she was, clutched hard against lunatic or demon as her life ebbed out of her in a steady flow, puddling to stain the grey earth. So thirsty. Somebody was laughing, and the sky was filled with pairs of eyes, mismatched green and orange. Her heart juddered in her chest. At last, Joliette mentally shrugged. When in Hell... She weakly brought her mouth to the sweatladen skin of his throat and took his flesh between her teeth, the first bite barely denting him, the second... oh, the second woke her terrible hunger, filling her mouth with a spurt of thick, coppery relief.
Micaelis felt winced at the feeling of her teeth puncturing his neck... That pain was nothing, and when he donned his full helm again, the healing rune inside would help take care of him. "No more than you need.." He reminded her wearily, about ready to act and cut her off if she proved herself too greedy. The silhouetted figure on the horizon behind them both finally began to move, no longer a mere mysterious spectator. In it's hand was a long, bladeless hilt with two sides... There was something more human about it than the other creatures, though. It sauntered in, taking its time. Neither overly eager or mindless. Despite it not having features, there was something expressive in its demeanour. However, it remained wordless, gradually closing in on the recovering pair.
Joliette did not need to be pushed away but reeled back, palms finding first the breastplate of Micaelis' armour and then the earth as she struggled out of his arms, feet pushing against grey, shoving herself as far from the man as she could, with one leg functioning. Her gut felt queasy, and she spat remnant sanguine, though the taste remained. Eyes lifting to the new figure, nearing, she was abruptly filled with dread. Another demon, a figment? Twisting, she pushed herself upward and ran headlong back to where the shine of white walls began... or should have. Now, the path was gone, and all there was wall. "No!" The cry was dulled behind clenched teeth, a bloody palm-print left on the gleaming surface as she slapped it. She'd turn her back, slide down to a kneel, holding back the sob that threatened to erupt. And the wall reached out, it seemed, or went soft and embraced her, and all was white, white... falling.
Stares locked. The only sound in creature's ears was that of her own heart as it thudded in impossible rhythm against her very mind. What faint light there was glinted off her skin and the myriad hides of the Hunt. Teeth gleamed white. A cruelly-taloned hand lifted, and the unnecessary words were not spoken. Suddenly there was agony, crystal-shattered and brutally deep. The dark places were rent asunder, and it was as if the very world cried out as the torn whole was taken apart in agonizing rips. Slowly, surely, exactly creature's head was excised, and her skin was split, and blood wept in long rivers down arm and leg, finger and lips. She shook and quaked, but remained standing: a proud pillar. Huntress and predator, the creature would never stoop beneath that haughty title. Queen. At last, shivering, there were two, and twin pairs of eyes the color of stone looked into similar depths. Neither wept, but through both flowed a primal fury. Only one was stronger. Hunt looked down upon Her creations with silken pleasure, and it rippled through her voice as she gave the command. "There are two. Make it so there is only one, as there has ever only been one." Nary a muscle twitched until that last word faded to nothing, and then sound exploded into kicked dirt and leaves. Feet hit the ground with pounded precision, hatred surged and blood swam through the air to feed Hunt, and she purred with contentment as flesh met flesh in a flurry of strikes. Shadows danced through dim light, until it seemed the very ground crawled with them. Eyes opened and observed the dance, and soon the hollow was ringed with more that populated the mist: every kill, mark and prey silently judging, waiting. Creature knew her craft, and she was dangerous in a nude grace that blurred the air with tan and cream, silvery scars flashing as her limbs blurred and teeth flashed. Yet Vilaelia too knew what she was about: the last armor she had worn blending into the dirt and trees, absorbing the attacks of creature without much in the way of a whimper. Her bow remained on her back, and it was with twin dirks that the air shrieked its own pain as she sliced it with grave accuracy. They both sought the sacrifice, and it was with joy that creature bellowed every hit, every wicked thump that grounded Vilaelia a little more. She was more blooded, in eighty years of freedom, whilst the fey had languished broken for just as long. Her rusted moves were showing, and even in that enchanted place did she feel her life whittling down to naught. Creature continued forward: pity a stranger and sympathy an unknown. Minutes passed, until blood soaked the ground; proud stains that bespoke the pride of both to sacrifice to Hunt. It was a farce. Creature rained blows, letting the slices take her skin as she drove Vilaelia first to her knees, and then to the ground. Teeth scraped the skin of Vilaelia's throat, and creature waited for the final command to end Vilaelia forever.
She was getting rather tired of landing in heaps, the one Joliette was in now being somewhat more confusing than the last; her wound was gone, her leg smooth, skin unruptured, though the pain lingered in some neural, illusory memory. All that faced her was the blankness of the white wall, to either side a black path of stone. Something shifted in her, then. This place... her bewilderment and fear had, during the battle with the constructs and her subsequent "feeding" from the now missing Micaelis, changed to a determination that she --would not-- allow herself to sink to madness, to give in the Hell she was in, to fight... whatever it was... and get the blazes out of there. It would be with a slight limp that she took to the path again, her mind ticking over what she knew of the place. One: were she not insane, then obviously she was not in Vailkrin anymore. Two: the walls were not always solid. Three: the maze was near-enough to endless. Four: there were others here, and one of them thought he knew her. What was the name? "Tenebrae". Weird. He'd thought her a vampire, too. That thought brought the confusion down on her hard, her belly lurching, uncomfortably queasy at the thought of what she'd done. The next corner turned brought her thoughts, her motion to halt-- longer than the others she'd seen, it vanished at the end in a cloud of red. Was this it? The end-- sanity... freedom, whatever it was, she wanted out of -here-. Taking toward it at a hesitant jog, she picked up speed after a few paces. Teeth were gritted, her jaw set. Limbs pumped, and her head lowered a little. Change was better than no change, even if it wasn't always good. With that thought, she plunged on, eyes closing as she bolted headlong into the mist.
A thin, predatory growl pierced the atmosphere with violent certainty, but the Monster fixed creature with a crooked brow that was not much impressed at all. "Little creature." It named her, and the woman jerked back as though stung. Hunt watched with lips pressed tight: this was not one of Hers, and commands would do little. But the Monster was ignoring Her, and its gaze focused next upon Joliette. "Ahh, and the Dark Lady. Tenebrae, was it not? Only, you are not looking quite so dark, nor quite so. . .seductive." A cocky grin graced its lips with masculine beauty, and something flitted through its eyes as it stepped next closer to Hunt. "If you don't mind, Lady, I need to take these two to a place more suited to my own purposes." The two were an odd mix; the haunted and dangerous beauty of wilderness compared to the most genteel of civilized culture. They clashed and blended in a whirl of colors, and it seemed to creature that they had met before in another time, mixed colors in a spray of. . .she jerked back once more, cheeks heated. She blinked, and looked away as a taloned hand was pressed to a manicured one, and expressions melted and changed as some other form of communication took place. In the interim, the creature looked to the woman who smelled of blood and other. Blood slicked the talon as creature stalked closer to Joliette, nose and chin held parallel to the ground. She sniffed out her trail, and darted in smooth motions that radiated dangerous intent. Creature stiffened, an odd figure compared to the glam and glitter of the two behind her, but no less real. No less solid. More so; she radiated her own vitality in the dirty sheen of her hair, the gleam of scar and skin. Up close, she pressed near to the woman, breath and eyes easy as she saw with the mind of creature and no other. She was free. To the woman she stole that sense, until the two existed alone in her vision. The runesword held not the wild creature's attention, but the face of the woman. Something. . .something. . .a hand lifted, fingers outstretched, nerves plucked high as a dark cloud gathered around the elf's fingers and then a thinnest brush of contact and the shadowy energy leapt into Joliette with the force of a child returning to a mother's embrace.
Micaelis was nowhere near as adept at sensing magic as mages, or even his former rune-mage masters, but he was well aware of something foreboding lingering within the ship. When he saw Tenebrae, he hadn't been able to keep himself from giving chase, shouting her name in caution. However, the woman did not heed his calls. Micaelis awoke in the darkness, remembering a fall. However, his rune powered battle armor could withstand a lot of punishment, and a fall trip to the ground would not suffice to render him unconscious. This was the work of magic... Micaelis heard shouts echoing throughout the strange maze, and they weren't far from his position at all. Breaking into a sprint with hopes of catching the voices owner, Micaelis moved with speed that far surpassed his human brethren. Well not he, moreso his armor... The runes etched throughout the inside of it that were responsible for making it respond to his bodily movements via a magical, telekinetic force were still working. That meant his armor might afford him some resistance against this places magics because of other magical symbols and marks writ throughout the battle suit of steel plate mail. Then Micaelis ruled out the thought... If he were so perfectly protected, what put him to sleep? No... this place was even more elaborate than the very runes he constructed into his armor, which meant the magics in this place were superbly designed for their purposes, whatever they might be... Micaelis grabbed hold of a corner, skidding around it into a halt to find Tenebrae. "There ya are! Didn’t ya hear me out there tellin' ya not to come in here?!" he shouted, scolding her. Then Micaelis sighed relievedly. "At least you're ok," though his voice was aged and harsh, it bore a soft note that time.
Eyes wide. She backed up. One hand to the belt, for the knife that was not there. The other snapped downward... the wire "bracelet" she wore, her garrotte, the 'bloody wire' she was notorious for among Vailkrin's seedier denizens... also not there. Heart thudding. What the hells.... The man who so suddenly appeared -- from the very corner she'd only just turned, from a path that'd been empty only seconds before-- was he dangerous? His armour and demeanour spoke of a warrior, and one a damned sight stronger than the tiny, barefooted woman staring at him. Her eyes, still the same lustrous and telltale peridot hue, shifted left and right, and she took a cautious step backward. "I... uh..." Was he a lunatic? He'd called her... some odd name, seemed to recognise her. Perhaps he was delusional. And she wasn't about to buddy up with a crazed fighter, not in a place like this. "I'm not.. who you're looking for. Alright?" Her smile was placating, tremulous. if she could just distract him. She was fast. Almost as fast as Garath. "Oh my Gods!" She looked over Micaelis' shoulder with an expression of horror, hoping he'd divert his gaze-- just for a second.
Micaelis peered at her through his full helm, and the first thing he noted was her inability to remember his name. Micaelis may have also been able to recognize her fear of him, were he not so used to doing battle with opponents as expressionless as the full helm that covered his face. "Tenebrae, do you not recognize me? It's me, Micaelis." He spread his arms wide to show he bore no ill intentions. "We met just days ago. The magics in this place must be playin' with yer head!" his voice rose a little, unintentionally and out of frustration for the situation. Then, the sharp sound of terror in her voice struck Micaelis, and he wheeled around in a flash as his armor snapped into action, responding to his body’s first whim. One of his hands fell to the swordless hilt at his side, gripping it firmly. Then--he saw there was no one--and his grip on the handle laxed.
Joliette was convinced now-- the man was mad. Drunk.. Or up to something...dear gods, she prayed he was not one of the soldiers she and Garath had preyed on so often of late, soused city guards stumbling home from the Hanging Corpse, from which she'd long been banned... In any case, she only keep smiling at he spoke, nodding politely until her faux horror. The ruse proved to work, and the second his eyes lifted from her, she turned and ran. By the time the warrior turned back, the thief would be merely a monochromatic streak dashing for the far junction of the path, black hair flying in a silken flag behind her, white limbs straining to carry her as far from the man, and as fast, as possible. Almost losing her footing, she half-slid around the corner to the path branching left. Only then did she risk turning, chagrined at the spare second that action cut off her flight, and did not find his tall form behind her. Yet. Breath ragged, dehydration taking its toll, she put on a burst of speed, heading for the next juncture.
Micaelis whipped back around the moment he heard the patter of small feet over the floor. While it was true that the woman moved fast, the arcane forces that drove his armor could make it move a lot faster... In barely an instant, Micaelis gave chase to the woman, breaking out into yet another sprint. The aging man didn't know why he chased her, exactly. He figured it might be out of concern for her safety, or more selfishly yet, Lorn's... Strange questions began to flood Micaelis' mind: ones that troubled his conscience. He didn't know what to make of it, and equated these sudden concerns to the magics of this eerie ship toying with his mind. As he moved through the maze, which had yet to turn on him, he was a gleaming streak of silver. His footsteps heavily padded the earth, clanking his armor with every step. It didn't take him long to catch the young woman, and with the rune inside his helm that kept a steady inflow of weak healing magics pouring into his body, stamina was seldom an issue unless Micaelis became wounded. Reaching out with a gauntleted hand, he attempted to grab her. His hold would be rough, just shy of bone crushing due to the armor's over-responsiveness. Micaelis had gotten pretty good at measuring out his actions in relation to his armor's reactions, but every now and then he slipped up, and this was one of those times....
Joliette flung herself forward, the clank of the soldier's armoured feet behind her ringing like dull and ominous knells on the black stone path. The sound grew closer, and closer.. her lungs burned, her throat was parched as a desert dune, and even her eyes were stingingly dry. She couldn't evade him much longer. This fact accepted, she slowed herself minutely, wincing at the sharp cramps that pinched her side. Her one hope was that he wouldn't kill her .. or whatever he was after.. right away. He wasn't enraged, just oddly determined, deluded, she'd figured that much, so it was without too much terror that the thief found her waist gripped by a powerful arm, ribs even more painfully compressed by his hold. Her body would appear to give in to his clutching, as prey acquiesces at last to a predator, her back colliding with his armour plating. Yes, let him think... as his hold tightened, Joliette would arc backward, raise a slender arm to find a grip on the edge of the plating at the back of his neck, knees bending so that bare feet pressed on his legs, providing leverage for her to lift herself upward. His grip on her waist only aided her rise, while her other hand sought his visor, fingers splaying to help her thumb locate a slot in the covering, and hopefully gouge an eye. Something she learned young, from sheer necessity: a man found it hard to chase a woman when in agony, and harder when half-blind. Speed was on her side, and surprise. Now, if only Luck held out...
Micaelis was no fool to her game. He knew that whenever anyone was reaching for his visor, they were up to no good. A lightning fast, plated hand darted up to snatch her at the wrist, and then brought it easily down to her side. This time, his grip would not be so uncomfortable. "Settle down, woman! I'm not going to hurt ya! You 'n me, I think we're seeing two different things." Though Micaelis did not have her wrist uncomfortably, there would be no prying his hand open. Her slender form could yank and jerk and try to escape all it wanted, but it was more than likely he had her now. "Listen to me... Think hard, lass... Have you seen anything that just wasn't quite right in here? Something that just doesn't fit what's goin' on 'round you exactly?" he asked, hoping to talk sense into his former would be companion.
Spitfire, hellcat… sure, she struggled, but Joliette was no fool, either. He wasn't going to harm her, so the next course of action was humouring the man. "Aye..." She let her form go limp, still clutched in his hold. "It is passing strange, this place." This, spoken between panted breaths, her voice made hoarse by unquenched thirst. Her stomach was sick with it, and her exertion. "Nowhere.. I have seen before." All around was the white walls, the apparently endless black stone path. "Where are we?"
Micaelis was growing wise to the game she played with him by now. The woman had already displayed her cunning once, and he wasn't going to fall for it so easily a second time. What really gave her away was when she asked Micaelis where she was. The aged man already knew she had it blueprinted in her mind she was somewhere definite. "I might as well be talking to the wall," he said with a sigh, but refused to give up on Tenebrae. "And you really shouldn't be askin' me where we are. It was I who followed you into this place. I bet if I told ya we were in the belly of some strange ship you'd think I'm mad... But that's understandable, you're head hasn't been on quite right." Micaelis looked left, and then right. "Come on, we're leavin'. You can either come with me willingly, or I can drag ya out of the belly of this ship kickin' and screaming. It makes no difference to me. I won't feel a thing. So what's it gonna be?"
A ship? Aye, the man was suffering the delusions of drink, or a blow to the head. His gruff words had her pondering trying to make another break for it-- where would he take her, in this never-ending maze? The thief, though her cunning and the paranoid mind her mentor had endowed her with screamed for her to fight, still found reason nestling in her skull. This.. Micaelis.. might lead them both to a thirsty death, or worse, but she'd not achieved much better wandering alone. And maybe.. just maybe, he knew the way out. "I'll go quietly." The phrase was almost instinctual, words spoken all too often to city protectors, most often before Garath's deadly knives found their throats. If only he was here... wherever 'here' was.
Micaelis let go of her wrist, and spoke in a tone that was soft, despite his rough, elderly voice, "I know right now you don't trust me any farther than you can throw me, Tenebrae, but remember these words: We're going to find a way out of this place together, and I won't be content to leave ya here, especially considering you're the reason I came in. Don't betray my trust and scamper off on me. Before this is done you're going to realize I'm all you've got." Nary a word more to be spoken, Micaelis started to press forward, in search for a way out. The aged man sighed quietly, thoughts drifting to that of the Hanging Corpse. He wanted nothing more right now than to be back there with a stiff glass of whisky in hand, Tenebrae in a chair opposite of his own, perhaps even beside it, and discussing whatever just so happened to come to mind. Micaelis didn't tempt himself with such thoughts for too long, though. In a place like this they could become all too real far too quickly, and then what he considered to be freedom would be his very prison.
She didn't know why he was calling her "Tenebrae". Odd name. Not as pretty as her own, that was certain. But she'd humour him again, finding sincerity in his tone. It was something to work with-- and she really he was all she had, anyway. Here, at least. Turning to face him, seeking upward to find the glint of his eyes through the slats of his visor, she nodded. "Alright." She padded silently after him, as she so often had after Garath as a child. That might explain the strangely familiar feeling that washed over her then, her gaze on the man's broad back, a kind of déjà vu, fleeting and only adding to the puzzle she found herself in.
Micaelis kept moving onward, thankful for the sound of slight footsteps behind him. The high walls that encased the two seemed so similar to Micaelis, that every new place he ventured felt like the last. The aged man let his mind drift a little as they walked, considering his surroundings, and the potential magics his suit was keeping him safe from. So far Micaelis figured he was lucky, as he suffered no delusion or hallucinations. He figured his armor was doing his job against whatever magics filled this place well. This newly found confidence in his rune craftsmanship was crushed, however, upon turning a corner. He stood upon an endless plain, beneath a dark sky. His first concern was Tenebrae--and the armored man whipped around to ensure she was still there--she was.. "Tenebrae... You seeing what I'm seeing?" he asked, worriedly.. "Describe it to me..."
The thief made a soft sound of disapproval, having almost run into the back of Micaelis, and was forced to step back when he turned, to make comfortable space between them. "Name's Joliette." Might as well get that straight. "And see what...?" She'd step around him, to where the gleaming white suddenly began to dim, and the walls seemed to fade into a kind of murky grey. "What's happened to..." Peridot eyes were sharp on him, flitting back to the changed landscape a second later. Her voice was quiet. "This place. It's madness. That's what it is." Daring a few steps forward, she found the grey increasing substantially until, when she turned back to look at the former runeguard, he seemed a long way off. "I see... a nothingness. A big patch of nothing."
Micaelis could still see Tenebrae, or as she preferred to call herself, 'Joliette.' "Aye... Well I'm seeing a harsh plain and darkened skies... Stay near, this place is obviously tryin' to fool with our heads!" he cautioned, voice urgent. Then--a shimmering blue light seemed to materialize out of nowhere--pulling itself together into strange shapes. Some of them kind of resembled humans, and others beasts. Each of them shared one definite thing in common, however. They had Tenebrae and Micaelis surrounded. Micaelis picked out four separate figures, and somewhere off in the horizon, there was a fifth. It was a silhouette, human, and apparently a male in its design. The glow left the lighted shapes, and their forms became much sharper and identifiable. "Constructs!" Micaelis shouted, aged and rough voice swelling with frustration that mingled with surprise. His head jutted from left to right as he frantically spun about, taking each one of them in as quickly as he could. They were all made from steel. Two had the rather large, fierce builds of golems, and had differently shaped midriffs but similar heads. The other two appeared more animalistic. One resembled a distorted lion, large and with many rows of sharp teeth. The other a snake... It had a long, narrow body that coiled. How the alloy bent like that was beyond Micaelis, but they were certainly nice pieces of handiwork. Micaelis drew the swordless handle from his hip, and flicked it off to the side. "Vamorae!" the word couldn't have left his lips any faster. Arcane energies crackled into existence, springing out from the rune covered hilt to form a shimmering blue blade. The markings etched along its surface were set aglow, blazing with a whitish light. "All right ya bastards! Lets see just how tough the stuff yer made outta is!" Micaelis pressed his back up against Tenebrae, and flung an arm back around her body. He wasn't holding her, but hoped he could use it to slow the charge of a construct that'd likely move in on him from behind, which was where she just so happened to be. Micaelis hadn't fought for anyone besides himself in a great awhile... It felt awkward to be weakening his own stance for the sake of bolstering someone else’s defences...
She was beginning to understand this place. Well, a smidgeon better than she had when she'd first become aware she was in it. It messed with people's heads, alright. Joli wondered whether the woman with the trident on the dark side of the wall had been real, and suffering her own delusions, or an element of the place itself. This musing was shaken from her mind, replaced with a sharp intake of breath, as a blue haze shifted through the vast expanse of grey, and left behind it several odd --and, she hated to admit, terrifying-- forms. They would have not been visible at all, save for the strange markings that appeared to run both across their surfaces and -within- them. Constructs. The word summoned a flash-image of a fireside, and she couldn't have guessed why, even were her mind not reeling with the events at hand. As the runeguard moved to shield her, she could only surmise by the near-panic evident in his cry that what they faced was deadly. What -he- faced... she was weaponless, and even had she her weapons, they were better suited to robbing drunks and picking locks than battling with... whatever these things were. "Magic, right? All's I see is some kinda weird writin', makin' their shape." Her voice was sharp, rising over a strange hum that grew louder as the beings approached. "How do we fight 'em?"
Micaelis kept the expressionless gaze of his full helm forward, staring at the two steel beastlike beings that had his front. He'd cant his head only slightly, attempting to steal a glance at Tenebrae without removing the constructs from his sight. His free hand dipped to the holster at his left hip, pulling out a sleek, barreled wand covered in glyphs and strange symbols. Micaelis clicked back the hammer of the odd device, and handed it back to Tenebrae. "Just point it at one of the big bastards and pull the trigger. Be sure to reset the hammer before trying to use it again," he instructed, not bothering to go into detail as to why it had to be done that way.
You :: Ahh, that was better. A weapon in her hand, no matter how odd, was better than none. Joli watched one of the two-legged things moving around them in an arc, bringing itself closer. She pushed Micaelis' arm away -- he'd need it, for his balance, and in a move she'd practised many times with Garath in their sundry gangfights, brawls and failed robberies, flattened her back against her companion's, making her body fluid, lithe, matching his every move with her own, to form a single fighter, with two minds, two weapons. An odd, back-to-back dance indeed, but handy for dealing with a mob. Her thumb sought the trigger, merely resting near it. She'd allow her eyes to shift from the circling, almost ghostly 'constructs', just for a second, to the weapon, which she assumed was a light-blade, like his own. By the time she looked up, Micaelis was moving, and she with him, and there were two of them rapidly approaching her side of the battle Pointing the hilt toward the closest, her thumb hit the trigger and the same strange hum was suddenly near a shriek as the weapon's magic burst into a blaze of light.
Micaelis heard the sound of the weapon he gave Tenebrae discharge it's powerful magics behind him. A bright purple bolt of vicious arcane energies sailed forth from the contraption, wailing through the air. The devastating ball of power slammed into the chest of the golem-esque creature, blowing it open and melting it in. Shrapnel was hurled forward from the explosive force of the magic projectile, and lucky for Tenebrae, Micaelis knew it would be. Grabbing her by the wrist, he switched sides with her, turning into the rain of heated metal to shield her soft, unprotected body.. It pelted his armor, chinking against its surface like rainwater. The blasted construct was silent and motionless, a gaping crater in its chest that was glowing hot around the rim. Then it fell to the ground. "One down!" cried Micaelis, glee laden in his elderly, grizzled voice at the destruction of a much hated variety of foe. Micaelis knew Tenebrae wouldn't be able to click the hammer back fast enough and take aim again to let another shot fly, and the constructs were all rushing in now. Micaelis softly turned in his armor, the magically powered battle suit responding to his movements via magical, telekinetic forces due to a number of carefully etched runes chiselled throughout the inside of his armor. Over responsive to his will, but no more so than Micaelis hoped, it jerked Tenebrae through the air, hurling her a safe distance away from the scene. He had no doubts her landing would be rough, but at least from there she'd have time to take aim and squeeze off another devastating shot. However, in the time it took Micaelis to do that, the remaining golem-like creature had already seized him by the throat in its massive hand. The construct hefted Micaelis from the earth with little trouble, and leveled their faces... Both were expressionless.. The golems because it didn't have one, and Micaelis' was because of his helm. The bevor at his neck kept his air supply from being choked off. "Just try n' end it then!" he shouted in the monstrosities face, thrusting his arcane sword into its body, running the steely construct through. The metal glowed red hot around the piercing, but the runes weren't there... Micaelis felt a twinge of fear, knowing he struck the wrong spot. With a massive fling of its large, powerful arm, the construct hurled him away, sending the armored runeguard tumbling over the earth in a mess of flapping limbs.
Joli had been aiming at the ...other... golem. Okay, so forefinger trigger, not thumb. Check. The woman barely had time to make the thought before she was flying through the air, ragdolled, to land in a skewiff heap of limbs, the thud driving air out of her utterly. The weapon sprang from splayed fingers that prevented a broken elbow, and was clutched up again while she struggled to suck a breath into her rattled body, desperately fumbling to reload, eyes locked on the golem who.. dammit, no clear shot, and Micaelis by the throat. Could she risk it? Or would he... Yes! The runeguard's sword pierced the construct's body, invisible to her but for the runes.. that remained uninterrupted. Taking aim, she held the wand-hilt-thing steady, more sure of her actions this time, and judged the risk to Micaelis worth it. But before she could get the shot off, the construct had obligingly thrown him, and she had a good, clear... Bam! Her hand buzzed and tingled with the unfamiliar energies discharged, and the golem-formed construct stood only a moment longer, swaying like a one-legged drunk while runes fizzed and spluttered out like dying comet-tails, to leave it entirely unable to be seen by the thief. No time to find Micaelis, she swivelled on her butt at the sound of the next runebeast approaching, fumbled again at the weapon, little or no time to load, nor any to gain her feet.. a dragon's tail of lights wended its way toward her rapidly, serpentine and deadly.
The walls mocked her as she stirred, limbs stiff and sore; lips bloodied and feet scabbed. A cocky grin took to her lips as she rose, for which demented reasons even she could not hint at beneath the layers of psychosis that had taken her mind. Vilaelia picked at her like fleas at flesh mottled with sores, and the effect slowly drove the chinks out of her defenses like well aimed picks at walls. She wasn't making much sense any more, as she wandered and the floor steadily became colder. Vaguely aware she was being hunted, there wasn't much more she could do than move, and sleep, and wait to die. She had known it would come eventually. Now the creature looked for a good place to give her final sacrifice: a pittance for the place she had once ruled. So she moved, idly wandering through the white-walled paths that circled like vultures. They deserved a smile. When the vines crept up through the pathway and onto the walls, stabbing thorns into her, she roused slightly, and only to greet them with a flat-eyed glare that did not give them much in way of regard. When the mist rose to choke her by the throat, and obscure her vision, she merely sighed, and breathed more deeply of the air. When the walls drew away and led to a sandy clearing that made her grunt with the effort to keep moving. . .well, it was then that she stilled, and she understood more clearly. A glance behind gave the barest inkling of a retreat: the walls wavered and beckoned at her to return to her hazy existence. But no. She had come to face whatever strove to pin her like a mouse. She would face it with teeth bared and eyes open, glaring wildly. She moved forward, and it was then that the mist clears and the vines made a path for her. Her blood fed the sand until that too firmed into good, thick earth. When she reached the center -- and how she knew that center from a foot to the side was the barest flicker of instinct -- she stopped, and waited. Before her reined Hunt, in all glorious wonder. Silver clawed, golden maned, wicked eyed, and haughty bearing as She postured large and terrible before the creature. The mist retreated, red-tinged: guarding the place from the rest of the Labyrinth. The creature did not bow, or scrape, or incline her head. She faced Her as an equal. "Good hunting."
Micaelis laid still for a few moments, then used his hands to push himself up off the ground. When he'd been flung, he dropped his sword, but thankfully, he'd let it go close to him. Picking up the blade, Micaelis forced himself to his knees. Upon leveling the gaze of his full helm with the horizon in Tenebrae's direction, the first thing to fill his vision was a lion-like creature made entirely from steel. The monster was all fangs and claws, ready to spill the plated man's blood and crush him under its pounce. The second was Tenebrae, and in even greater peril than himself. With urgency so great it stressed his body, Micaelis sprang into a jump, then with a kick, bounded from the approaching constructs head. The steely beast was thrust into the ground face first, leaving a large indention in the plain that kicked up grass and dirt. Micaelis' armored form sailed through the air, fastly approaching the snake-like construct. Gravity was in control now, bringing the runeguard down fast and hard upon his beastly adversary. With a slash that ended in a rather messy tackle, Micaelis' energetic blade seared the steely serpents head, leaving the neck glowing hot. The lower half of its long figure thrashed, heading violently into the horizon where the silhouette stood with its arms folded over its chest, unmoving like a statue. Micaelis, on the other hand, nearly tumbled into Tenebrae. Slowing to a stop just moments before she'd be crushed by his bulky, rolling form. Micaelis groaned, registering a sharp pain in his ankle. "Think it's broke." He murmured, then attempted to sit up. However, all was not done. The Lion-like construct still remained, and was heading right at them both.
All was a blur of light and motion, screeching metal and the dull, roaring hum of magic. Then the runes that blazed like stars winked out, the headless creature dividing to flickering portions, then vanishing, and an armoured form near-flattened her. Joliette couldn't move fast enough.. in both the literal and colloquial senses of the phrase. Something told her she should have more power behind her movements, but muscles and mind seemed at odds. None of this was a conscious thought, though, merely a bodily impression as she rolled from the runeguard's path, arighting herself with the still-ready weapon aimed at the construct-- a blue streak of charging lights. Knees drawn up, she had the sword aimed, primed... the lion-shaped thing was near on top of them both, and when it exploded to a blue-and-purple crescendo of metal bits and fire, the sudden weight that pinned her leg down, impaled through her calf with a sharp shard or fang, was merely a presence, nothing visible, though the blood she was losing was bright enough. "Ugh..." Rocking forward, her fingers groped at ...nothingness... but it was a weighted nothing that would not budge, except to rip her flesh further. Looking to Micaelis, hoping the man wasn't too injured to lend her a hand, she merely made a soft whine, speech beyond her at this point. And it might've been the blood loss, the fear, a remnant after-image light echoed in her vision, but for a moment she could swear she saw a red haze drifting, two figures looming, her own sight swimming. Blood-loss, she decided, and fell back to rest her head on the grey and featureless ground.
Elsewhere, actions and movements tripped the walls of the Labyrinth, explosions of sound trickling into the curtain and hollow that housed the Hunt and the creature. Within her, Vilaelia was squirming, plucking at her skin in such a way that it crawled. Before her, the Hunt smiled cold and cruel. "You wish well." Her voice growled and crept up into the creature's mind, resonating there. This embodiment had often sung hints and taunts to the creature, who had always responded with a pleasure that near wrung the heart out with the thrill of it. Her breath quickened, but she held firm: trembling in the echoing silence that held so much promise she could breathe the taste of it. Euphoria. Creature neither moved forward nor backward. She held her ground, and gave solidly to Hunt what she always had. "What does the Hunt wish?" Her voice was strong, the broken wholeness of it resonating an odd vibrancy to the place. It became clearer, the focus increasing so that every blade of grass and leaf was painfully sharp to her sight, cutting a swath behind the magnificence that was Hunt. Yet She did not give much of a glance to creature, that cold smile hinting at things that might have passed -- such a magnitude that near set creature to trembling. "Who are you, little one, who travel My walkways and stalk My prey? Are you My little one? You stink of the foul places, them-who-have-forgotten. Who do you belong to? Which path do you tread?" Creature swallowed at that line of questioning, palms wetting with anticipation; skin slicking sweet against the brush of the air that curried her tongue and courted her fingertips. She could not answer. So many years and years had passed, and she could not answer. There were many who tickled at her mind, held a bit of her within their careful pads. Creature closed her eyes, and a flicker of her old vivacity returned. "There are two ." she answered, and lifted her eyes to meet the obsidian glare of Hunt. The game was on.
Micaelis had managed to sit up just as the lion's head pinned Tenebrae's leg to the ground. Forcing himself to his feet, Micaelis moved over to the giant mass of steel keeping her down. "Hold on Tenebrae, don't you quit on me!" he called to her, concern and desperation cracking his elderly, hard voice. Squatting down, Micaelis gripped the head of the construct and lifted it from the ground. The whole while he could feel the stress on his broken ankle. Pain ticked at his mind, wearing him down physically as he carried the massive piece of metal a few short steps away from Tenebrae and dropped it to the ground. It made a loud thud, sizable indention in the grass, but little else. Micaelis then turned back to Tenebrae, who lay bleeding rather profusely on the ground. Walking over to her, he knelt down and removed his helmet, laying it beside them both. Plated arms wrapped themselves around her slim figure, bringing her to his chest. "Tenebrae, I want you to bite my neck and suck my blood. Know it or not you're a vampire... I know this sounds strange, but please, trust me..." the proud old runeguard was almost pleading. Worry riddled his aged, scarred features, and the sharp line of his jaw was tense. Micaelis lifted her head and body a little higher and craned his neck to give her easy access. "Bite me, and don't take any more than you need. Do it..." Micaelis swallowed, fixing the gaze of his good eye dead ahead of himself.
He was insane. That explained it. He was insane-- or she was. This was an asylum, this place a pit of lunacy in the depths of her own cracked mind. Or she was dead, gutted finally by one of Garath's many mortal enemies and lying in some dim alleyway, a corpse, whose spirit was sent to the hell she had always known was waiting. His arms seemed real enough, though, the scent of blood overwhelming. Was he a demon? She was so, so thirsty... His throat pulsed. She could -hear- it, like the hum of magic. Just a bite, maybe one, just the one, only for the liquid to wet her arid tongue. But how..? She ran that sandpaper-textured muscle over white, even teeth. Vampire, indeed. But there she was, clutched hard against lunatic or demon as her life ebbed out of her in a steady flow, puddling to stain the grey earth. So thirsty. Somebody was laughing, and the sky was filled with pairs of eyes, mismatched green and orange. Her heart juddered in her chest. At last, Joliette mentally shrugged. When in Hell... She weakly brought her mouth to the sweatladen skin of his throat and took his flesh between her teeth, the first bite barely denting him, the second... oh, the second woke her terrible hunger, filling her mouth with a spurt of thick, coppery relief.
Micaelis felt winced at the feeling of her teeth puncturing his neck... That pain was nothing, and when he donned his full helm again, the healing rune inside would help take care of him. "No more than you need.." He reminded her wearily, about ready to act and cut her off if she proved herself too greedy. The silhouetted figure on the horizon behind them both finally began to move, no longer a mere mysterious spectator. In it's hand was a long, bladeless hilt with two sides... There was something more human about it than the other creatures, though. It sauntered in, taking its time. Neither overly eager or mindless. Despite it not having features, there was something expressive in its demeanour. However, it remained wordless, gradually closing in on the recovering pair.
Joliette did not need to be pushed away but reeled back, palms finding first the breastplate of Micaelis' armour and then the earth as she struggled out of his arms, feet pushing against grey, shoving herself as far from the man as she could, with one leg functioning. Her gut felt queasy, and she spat remnant sanguine, though the taste remained. Eyes lifting to the new figure, nearing, she was abruptly filled with dread. Another demon, a figment? Twisting, she pushed herself upward and ran headlong back to where the shine of white walls began... or should have. Now, the path was gone, and all there was wall. "No!" The cry was dulled behind clenched teeth, a bloody palm-print left on the gleaming surface as she slapped it. She'd turn her back, slide down to a kneel, holding back the sob that threatened to erupt. And the wall reached out, it seemed, or went soft and embraced her, and all was white, white... falling.
Stares locked. The only sound in creature's ears was that of her own heart as it thudded in impossible rhythm against her very mind. What faint light there was glinted off her skin and the myriad hides of the Hunt. Teeth gleamed white. A cruelly-taloned hand lifted, and the unnecessary words were not spoken. Suddenly there was agony, crystal-shattered and brutally deep. The dark places were rent asunder, and it was as if the very world cried out as the torn whole was taken apart in agonizing rips. Slowly, surely, exactly creature's head was excised, and her skin was split, and blood wept in long rivers down arm and leg, finger and lips. She shook and quaked, but remained standing: a proud pillar. Huntress and predator, the creature would never stoop beneath that haughty title. Queen. At last, shivering, there were two, and twin pairs of eyes the color of stone looked into similar depths. Neither wept, but through both flowed a primal fury. Only one was stronger. Hunt looked down upon Her creations with silken pleasure, and it rippled through her voice as she gave the command. "There are two. Make it so there is only one, as there has ever only been one." Nary a muscle twitched until that last word faded to nothing, and then sound exploded into kicked dirt and leaves. Feet hit the ground with pounded precision, hatred surged and blood swam through the air to feed Hunt, and she purred with contentment as flesh met flesh in a flurry of strikes. Shadows danced through dim light, until it seemed the very ground crawled with them. Eyes opened and observed the dance, and soon the hollow was ringed with more that populated the mist: every kill, mark and prey silently judging, waiting. Creature knew her craft, and she was dangerous in a nude grace that blurred the air with tan and cream, silvery scars flashing as her limbs blurred and teeth flashed. Yet Vilaelia too knew what she was about: the last armor she had worn blending into the dirt and trees, absorbing the attacks of creature without much in the way of a whimper. Her bow remained on her back, and it was with twin dirks that the air shrieked its own pain as she sliced it with grave accuracy. They both sought the sacrifice, and it was with joy that creature bellowed every hit, every wicked thump that grounded Vilaelia a little more. She was more blooded, in eighty years of freedom, whilst the fey had languished broken for just as long. Her rusted moves were showing, and even in that enchanted place did she feel her life whittling down to naught. Creature continued forward: pity a stranger and sympathy an unknown. Minutes passed, until blood soaked the ground; proud stains that bespoke the pride of both to sacrifice to Hunt. It was a farce. Creature rained blows, letting the slices take her skin as she drove Vilaelia first to her knees, and then to the ground. Teeth scraped the skin of Vilaelia's throat, and creature waited for the final command to end Vilaelia forever.
She was getting rather tired of landing in heaps, the one Joliette was in now being somewhat more confusing than the last; her wound was gone, her leg smooth, skin unruptured, though the pain lingered in some neural, illusory memory. All that faced her was the blankness of the white wall, to either side a black path of stone. Something shifted in her, then. This place... her bewilderment and fear had, during the battle with the constructs and her subsequent "feeding" from the now missing Micaelis, changed to a determination that she --would not-- allow herself to sink to madness, to give in the Hell she was in, to fight... whatever it was... and get the blazes out of there. It would be with a slight limp that she took to the path again, her mind ticking over what she knew of the place. One: were she not insane, then obviously she was not in Vailkrin anymore. Two: the walls were not always solid. Three: the maze was near-enough to endless. Four: there were others here, and one of them thought he knew her. What was the name? "Tenebrae". Weird. He'd thought her a vampire, too. That thought brought the confusion down on her hard, her belly lurching, uncomfortably queasy at the thought of what she'd done. The next corner turned brought her thoughts, her motion to halt-- longer than the others she'd seen, it vanished at the end in a cloud of red. Was this it? The end-- sanity... freedom, whatever it was, she wanted out of -here-. Taking toward it at a hesitant jog, she picked up speed after a few paces. Teeth were gritted, her jaw set. Limbs pumped, and her head lowered a little. Change was better than no change, even if it wasn't always good. With that thought, she plunged on, eyes closing as she bolted headlong into the mist.
A thin, predatory growl pierced the atmosphere with violent certainty, but the Monster fixed creature with a crooked brow that was not much impressed at all. "Little creature." It named her, and the woman jerked back as though stung. Hunt watched with lips pressed tight: this was not one of Hers, and commands would do little. But the Monster was ignoring Her, and its gaze focused next upon Joliette. "Ahh, and the Dark Lady. Tenebrae, was it not? Only, you are not looking quite so dark, nor quite so. . .seductive." A cocky grin graced its lips with masculine beauty, and something flitted through its eyes as it stepped next closer to Hunt. "If you don't mind, Lady, I need to take these two to a place more suited to my own purposes." The two were an odd mix; the haunted and dangerous beauty of wilderness compared to the most genteel of civilized culture. They clashed and blended in a whirl of colors, and it seemed to creature that they had met before in another time, mixed colors in a spray of. . .she jerked back once more, cheeks heated. She blinked, and looked away as a taloned hand was pressed to a manicured one, and expressions melted and changed as some other form of communication took place. In the interim, the creature looked to the woman who smelled of blood and other. Blood slicked the talon as creature stalked closer to Joliette, nose and chin held parallel to the ground. She sniffed out her trail, and darted in smooth motions that radiated dangerous intent. Creature stiffened, an odd figure compared to the glam and glitter of the two behind her, but no less real. No less solid. More so; she radiated her own vitality in the dirty sheen of her hair, the gleam of scar and skin. Up close, she pressed near to the woman, breath and eyes easy as she saw with the mind of creature and no other. She was free. To the woman she stole that sense, until the two existed alone in her vision. The runesword held not the wild creature's attention, but the face of the woman. Something. . .something. . .a hand lifted, fingers outstretched, nerves plucked high as a dark cloud gathered around the elf's fingers and then a thinnest brush of contact and the shadowy energy leapt into Joliette with the force of a child returning to a mother's embrace.