[closed] crossing hoards

[silentsavant]

Who: Eren & Soren; Ranulf later
When: Noveuer 15th
Where: Eastern Residential District
What: Two Dragons end up wreaking havoc in the city fighting over who gets to hoard one piece of pointy metal.
Warnings: VIOLENCE and... some cannibalism now, too. Thanks, Eren.



[ Last year, Soren had not received anything through the mirrors that came from home. It never bothered him that he missed out on the excitement. Nothing he used to carry meant much to him. The tomes of magic he once fought with would be rendered inert, unable to invoke the spiritual entities that don't exist here. Any medicine or tools would be fine, but ultimately not worth bending backwards to claim when he could acquire the same here, if not better. More of the clothes he used to wear might be a refreshing surprise, but he'd need to get them fixed if he were to accommodate his new body parts, and he already had enough of those. Beyond the basics, Soren did not tend to keep anything of personal value or significance. Only once he'd started turning into a dragon did he ever feel the drive to hold onto keepsakes, the urge to defend them at all costs as though someone were threatening the concept of Ike himself.

When this year's round of item emergences crops up, Soren can't work up any eagerness at the possibility to be gifted with a surprise from home. More than that, he just hoped he didn't get stuck with someone else's junk. That just meant the hassle of finding out who it belonged to and arranging to have them come take it off his hands. This round seems different, however, and all one needs to do is notice the brassy aircrafts puttering through the air and bumbling into walls, a variety of curios secured in their clutches. Based on the frantic message sent out through the watches, the logistics of delivering this batch to their rightful owners aren't going well, either.

It doesn't have much to do with him. If someone ends up with one of his grimoires or a lost sock of his or whatever else manages to fall out of the glass, they could keep it for all he cares.

Little did he know, he's going to care quite a lot.

At the very extent of the Haven's boundaries, one of the distant shapes of these UFOs catches his eye before disappearing behind one of the taller buildings in the residential district. It's too far to discern exactly what it is, but something about it calls to him, agitates the pool of his memories to dredge up something... familiar. It couldn't have been his. It had the sharp and distinct profile of a sword; he didn't personally use any of those. As far as he understands it, most Mirrorbound are reunited with something they owned.

Then again, what did Soren really own? Almost everything he did was technically bought using company funds and distributed to appropriate fighters. The same could be said for the other mercenaries and most of their equipment. It is this thought that the dragon holds onto as he fixes his eyes on the horizon and unfolds his wings to satisfy this persistent curiosity. Was he imagining? Could it be...? His instincts start to kick in, even if he's kicking himself for likely getting worked up over nothing. Monsters are so stupid... ]

Comments

[usurpers]

[ he can’t . . . see anymore, despite the narrow crack open his eyelids withstand, though beneath it was an unfixed gaze void and emptying. the wyvern’s eyes then roll into whiteness, along with its massive and dying husk melting— literally melting into an ugly pile of flesh and blood, of pieces of meat that burn away into a disgusting smell in the atmosphere the steam rose to. eren too, was beginning to lose the shape of his dragon form as it slipped off the human base underneath the buttered layers. there’s still parts of his dragon body left in the form of chunks, of bones breaking without the network of tissue to keep it all firmly in place.

he never liked the water. he hated the sensation of drowning. he hardly knew what was happening other than feeling some sort of welcoming cold and too much frothing in and around his throat. everything moved . . . so slowly. it burned to breathe the last few he could afford once the blood spewed backwards with each raggedy inhale, pooling at the side of one of his lungs. he couldn’t move anymore— he couldn’t swim out of the sea they’ve created. he couldn’t push his head above. the sea . . .

how ironic that he’d die choking of his own fluids (or so he thinks). his bond is somewhere, searching, worrying . . . maybe he should just stay quiet, but a part of him does reach out before, even mentally, a waving blackout pins him under his own tortuous weight. like the tide—

maybe he deserved worse than this; maybe he didn’t want death, but he didn’t want mercy either. with the last bit of strength from his human body, eren wheezes with fragility, with the taint in his heart that had yet to be filtered and cleansed from him person, now stained with his blood, his blood that chimed and screamed for freedom for those that swallow them, give them strength, if not for a second more—

coward, he manages to say in a spit at the subdued soren’s feet, of which were probably stepping into the growing, murky puddle of the wyvern’s demise and remains. what and who was that for? perhaps they’d never know. he doesn’t move after that, and if one were to look too fast they’d say he wasn’t breathing.

but he was. just a little bit, and hanging onto the single thread of life he had rather than letting go. ]

[ranyaulf]

( the guards move as ranulf push them aside, his tail wildly lashing out as he speeds past. it's two of them. both broken, battered, by each other. whoever started it... it doesn't matter. he doesn't even think about it, hands instinctually raising as he focuses his energies out and forward. though he's quick to move to soren's side, it's not like all of his thoughts are on his bonded. no, he thinks about eren as well. if he were a more vengeful, angry, and overall bitter laguz, he might leave the boy to suffer even longer. he may not want mercy but it's not up to him to accept or reject it right now. there's no honor in denying succor, remembering his first time attempting to heal a minor wound.

cool, not cold. to numb the aches and pains as best as he can. he's not a student of that respective school of spells, but to be so idiotic to not learn any is practically impossible. not for someone who's used to wars, to fighting, to drawing blood with fang and claw. )

Stop talking. ( directed at eren, just like the energy he's willing to expend for him. it's brief, maybe just enough to keep him from succumbing to a complete and unending unconsciousness. a temporary solution while he's busy prioritizing soren, immediately pressing his hands onto those grievous wounds and gritting his teeth. he can take those ones away, or at least keep them from getting worse. there has to be a medic of some kind willing to approach as well. these thoughts fly through his head, as his eyes fall onto the sword...

he understands. more than anything. maybe even more than a dragon wanting to defend the most precious treasure in its hoard. it's why... he's still angry, but it's a different kind.

pulling his headband off, ranulf immediately uses it to wipe soren's face, to clean off the blood. )

It's okay. Help is here.

( for both of them. )