Player Plot: The Salvation of Geardagas, Part 1

[faileas]

Event Log: January, The Salvation of Geardagas: Part 1

The Evergreen Circle Something is happening in Aefenglom. A rash of disappearances has finally caught the attention of the authorities, but only thanks to a strange twist: a handful of the missing individuals are starting to turn up again, and not as they should be. It began with a harpy. After a week of nothing she returned, fully transformed into a Shade and too far gone to save. The same happened with a trader the next day. And the next with a witch. All three were infected, albeit to varying degrees, and only one of them was able to be brought back from the brink. Naturally, this is a huge cause for concern. There's little sign that the Bright Wall is damaged and none of the victims were known to have left the city. Questioning the survivor, Owain, doesn't produce any leads either as he can't remember anything before his disappearance. It's only after he's had some time to recover that he notices something off. As the blackening of the Cwyld fades, a small tattoo on his palm that wasn't there before becomes visible. To the concern of the Coven, it's a symbol that's familiar to them as the emblem of a rising spiritual movement favoured by the wealthy called the Evergreen Circle, led by a witch called Cillian Alder. Their purpose, he claims, is to provide hope through interrogating the Cwyld from a scholarly and philosophical perspective. In spite of this, Alder has developed more of a cult-like following than anything. Mirrorbound of standing (business owners, members of parliament, public figures, etc) might have already received one of their pamphlets. Naturally, it's an incredibly sensitive subject. The Evergreen Circle has been entirely peaceful up until now, and with such influential and powerful figures among its numbers, the Coven is reluctant to make any outright accusations. Instead, the task of investigating them has been covertly passed to the Mirrorbound. As outsiders, they stand less of a chance of causing political unrest. However, they explicitly warn against taking any hostile actions for the time being: this is an information-gathering request, nothing more. They can provide basic information about the Evergreen Circle meetings but that's about it. a. Preaching to the Choir (Every Friday Evening, Mid-Ieneuer to Early Feoveuer) Cillian Alder Art by Rachel The hall is buzzing. Though there aren't even enough people here to fill the place, everyone seems to be bubbling with excitement, exchanging loud greetings and introductions. They're particularly friendly to newcomers and are quick to offer up their experiences with the group: "Cillian is a truly free thinker!" "I haven't felt so positive about our future for a long time." "There’s a real sense of hope and community here in the Circle." The meeting convenes at 8 o’clock sharp and silence descends upon the room as a figure takes the stage. With his commanding presence and charismatic smile there's no doubt about who this is: Cillian Alder. A man in his late fifties with greying hair, he speaks with an accent crisp as cut glass and a strong voice, no doubt amplified by some kind of spell to reach around the room. He's hypnotising, those cool blue eyes of his impossible to look away from and piercing in their intensity. "How wonderful to see you all tonight, both familiar and unfamiliar faces alike! You are all welcome. I have only one request." He brings his hands together with a smile. "That you keep your hearts open. How else might our minds grow Evergreen?" Alder's speech is nothing if not passionate. He paces and proselytises, responding to the audience's interruptions and cheers with enormous enthusiasm. Throughout, his message is clear. "Who are we to immediately decry the Cwyld as a curse? Fear of the unknown, of what we have yet to control, can only hold us back! We must instead seek to understand it and be at peace with its presence! This is a test of our conviction! Our will to survive!" It goes on for the better part of an hour and, afterwards, he descends into the audience to receive their praise and questions with the gracious smile of a beloved king. He might even turn that magnanimous presence on you, affording you a few crucial moments of conversation (limited to 2 RNG characters). Will you stick around to find out more or try and slip backstage while everyone is distracted? For such a warm, welcoming atmosphere, there seems to be a lot of security around the doors leading back there so it might take some quick thinking to get through without conflict. Those who are caught will have to face the consequences, but the results might be… unfavorable. b. Spirited Away (late-Ieneuer to mid Feoveuer) Those less inclined to subterfuge won't have any problems finding trouble to get into either. As the month goes on, more and more people disappear, and that might even include Mirrorbound. Whether you're intercepting a kidnapping or fighting off your own, you're more likely to get caught up in it the longer the month goes on. It's easy enough to fight off the attackers but nigh impossible to actually catch or identify one: each is dressed in black and smells of the tell-tale decay of the Cwyld. But even assuming you do manage to apprehend one, they will refuse to talk in anything but vague, confusing comments about salvation and new beginnings. c. Cast Out (mid-Ieneuer to early Feoveuer) Likewise, the number of locals who have been abducted and released continues to rise. The victims, anywhere from badly infected to fully transformed into Shades, require subduing, healing and, in the most dire of circumstances, permanently dealt with before they can hurt anyone. Without exception, they're aggressive, reacting violently to attempts to heal as well as harm them and there are no discernable patterns when it comes to victims. However, the eagle-eyed might spot the Evergreen Circle's symbol on some of their palms if they're not too heavily corrupted.

[ ooc: More information about the event can be found on the plotting post along with comments for questions, and RNG sign-ups for directly interacting with Alder! ]

Comments

Styx | Witch | ota

[tothemetal]

preaching to the choir;;

[it wasn't fair. the Cwyld was enough of an abomination on this world the way it already was; to make even the city a place of fear was unforgivably cruel. Styx is admittedly too stupid to grasp the finer details of science and readily admits that there may be more to the infection no one yet knows - why not? this world was strange. however...the destruction of a family is something he's intimately familiar with.

no one had asked those people what they'd wanted. they deserved better.

this thought was what had brought the drummer to an Evergreen meeting despite his natural inability towards subterfuge. if nothing else, maybe he could learn to understand these people better. surely they must have some reason to act as they did...right?

unfortunately, charismatic as Alder is, his lecture is still on topics far too esoteric for the dull mind. Styx feels as if he's back in school again, and those seated near him can watch his head droop lower and lower over the course of the hour until...ah, there he goes. out like a light.

it's only when the speech part of the evening has finished and everyone rises, jostling the chairs around them, that he's jolted back to life.]

...uh! S-sorry.

[he flushes faintly upon feeling eyes on him, quite embarrassed at being caught.]

I, um. Anything important happen?

cast out;;

[the weather is as cold as ever these days. Styx has taken to wearing gloves when he goes out now, although the chill of winter has never particularly bothered him much. no, the outerwear is for a completely different reason, because-]

Dude, come on!

[because the victims of the Cwyld were everywhere these days, it felt. dangerous though it was the drummer knew how to fight with his hands best, and so that was how he engaged these poor souls. the crack of bone against rock resounds through the rapidly emptying street as he smashes an infected turnskin's head against a nearby wall with one of those gloved hands.

it pains him to be so rough, but there's just no other choice. saving these people can't come at the cost of infecting more, and so - they have to stay in one place, no matter how much it hurts him to act like the brute he appears.]

I know you're still in there, just - fuck, man, I'm trying to help!

[still, he holds himself back to some degree. prodigiously strong as he is, a turnskin is still a turnskin. even with the tendrils of healing magic causing the thing to writhe in screeching agony now and then, the witch is having a spot of trouble holding him in place on his own.]

wildcard;;

[feel free to hit me with your own prompt! if you want to do something specific/would like a starter just PM me or hit up phantomblood]

closed to eren

[tothemetal]

[he should be more careful. it's a thought that does occur to Styx for a half-second over the week as he finds himself encountering (pursuing) more and more of these infected residents. protecting others was always the priority, but what good would all his strength be if he allowed harm to come to himself? it's why he's always sure to put on gloves before going out these days, no matter how mild the bite of winter might seem.

in the end, no amount of precaution can overcome his gentle heart.

a young woman had asked Styx for help in carrying her groceries home, overburdened thanks to the presence of a prodigiously excellent sale. he'd accepted without another thought - that's what being big was for, after all, and she did appear to be sickly. not in countenance, or the way she thanked him, but...there was definitely a sense of illness pouring off this stranger in waves. she ought to be home in bed, no out running errands. as he follows after her down a shortcut of an alley he can't help wondering if maybe she'd allow him to pick up necessities until she felt better. would that be too weird?

it's a question that never receives an answer, not when he's leaning down close upon her gesturing to better hear what the woman has to say. as the witch's body dips, he suddenly finds himself under attack: some terribly heavy thing strikes him hard in the back of the skull.

the grocery bags split the moment they connect with the cobblestone, Styx staggering madly as stars blossom in front of his eyes. blood trickles down his collar, but the drummer's first thought - his only thought - is to his companion. that sick woman. he needed to get her behind him, keep their assailants away from her frail body.

only...turning to take her by the shoulder now, he finds a strange grin affixed to her face.]

Don't struggle, sir. Your kind heart will surely save you.

[this was - bad. this was very bad.

another blow strikes him in the leg, a frigid spell of ice that crystallizes and attempts to root him to the ground. Styx cries out like a wounded animal, but there's no reaction from the passersby in the main street; too late he realizes that the alley's entryway has been enchanted to mute sound.

he needs...he needs to get out of here, or activate his bracelet, or - or fucking something. the ice is still thin enough that the witch can break free with some effort, although as he takes in the fair number of black-clad figures emerging from deeper within the alleyway he can't help the mild panic which grips his heart. this close to him, how much of a barrier can he really lay down between them? with his head still swimming from the previous blow, could he even fucking remember how to cast a ward in the first place?

instinctively Styx reaches out and pulls hard against his bond, like a dying man grasping for the stability of a fluttering curtain amidst their downward fall. he can at least remember his elemental spells (lightning is already crackling along his arm) and that should...if it doesn't break him out of here entirely it ought to buy time. his dragon would aid him, somehow. he believes that with all his heart.]

so anyway—

[autotome]

[ he’d been at the orphanage when the first strum of painful impact oscillated the thread of their bond like the pulled string of a guitar. it could’ve been anything, from stubbing one’s toe to tripping, mind, and usually eren would give it a moment before it meant anything else. the second strum came enough that the phantom pains in his missing limb felt shoved, and he would’ve fallen over if it hadn’t been for his crutch, an artificial pedestal that hasn’t budged an inch when his knee would’ve jerked into a forced bend. now, he was wary, excusing himself from the gaggle to send his bond a message, to check in, if all was well and just a mere blip.

the call for help, like a silent scream for his name that jostled his insides into a violent shake shoots his gut to his chest. that was all the message he needed in turn, without sending his question and only pulling his coat open to expose the ink over his heart. the clothes— he could get new clothes, as they tore just as easily as his flesh did, like butter, to fit the hulking form ripping his frame from beneath and cracking bones into larger limbs. he can’t get another styx.

the enchantment weaves into the tattoo activates only by mutual command, and with styx’s hail and eren’s urgent acceptance, the gate opens. who knew what was happening by the time he’d done all of this, but there, in the alleyway above one of the rooftops, the air distorts, reality ripples, a brick wall crumbles as massive talons grip their corners to drag himself out— a wyvern, his wyvern, cold with calculation and ripe with protective ire, shrieks his coming. ]

[tothemetal]

[in the throes of the group's assault, Styx couldn't say how much time has passed between that desperate cry and the crackle of magic heralding his bond's arrival. he must have attracted these people's interest before today, painting a redder target on his back with every shade he'd subdued. why else would there be so many of them, just to take a lonesome man? they knew his prodigious size already.

it's...overwhelming. adrenaline has pumped through his body long enough to dull the blow to his skull down to a manageable ache, but there's still so much to defend against that the witch can feel himself slipping deeper and deeper beneath the water with every second that passes.

he's activated his bracelet by now, slammed against a wall to trigger the armor with a mind too distracted for even that much. the tangible presence of his bonded anchors him, providing bravery to draw upon even as Eren himself still travels towards him; it's all that's prevented him from crumpling thus far, a reminder to hold fast until the tides have turned.

the mark of the dragon spurs him on, but it also informs his attackers of a great vulnerability. Styx runs hot as the sun, scorching with the same intensity of his lightning - and so they chill his embers with more bolts of ice, slamming into scales never meant to feel winter's wrath. he stumbles on the occasion his lumbering body cannot dodge in time, providing them the opportunity to press in closer, and -

and there his greatest weakness of all is exposed. the consequences of failure here are well known to the drummer, and yet no matter how valiantly he struggles he can never quite banish the face of that accomplice who'd led him to this doomed alley. she was sick. they were all sick. that couldn't be faked the way kindness could. the knowledge shackles him in a way nothing else can, preventing him from retaliating at full force. blows fall harder and harder upon his body, but Styx still can't lose himself to the red world. these people...maybe they could still be saved? if he struck a fatal blow to even one, that possibility was lost forever.

oh, his heart really was too soft.

but his dragon...he was fire and brimstone. Styx can feel his arrival before the world itself understands what's been unleashed, gaze instinctively departing from the fray to watch what can only be a glorious appearance - unwise, perhaps, with a naga so close to wrapping powerful coils around his legs, but he no longer carries fear in his heart. a thrum of relief runs through their connection instead, of joy, the charged embrace he cannot give him in reality yet.]

Eren.

[his other half was here. made whole, there was nothing that could stand in their way.]

[autotome]

[ bonds were completions; bonds complimented each other. where one was weak, the other would supply. when one was destabilized, the other would anchor. just as styx’s heart bled for his attackers with mercy— eren’s throat charged with molten light, his teeth and exposed molars crackling with the dances of his witch’s element. he feels styx desire to aid these people and comprehends it.

but he doesn’t follow it, neither does he accept it as his own. they say that onslaught is about intention. eren feels no hate toward his friend’s aggressors, no anger against them or their desire to do what they think is right. his anger is draconic, born from the imprisonment being enacted right before his eyes. who was eren to change their minds, though? his bubbling rage redirects to an eerie repose of being fully aware of what he must do if he wants to save someone he loves. it is spoken through the saving clutch that flows to his bond and reminds him to quell, but do not stop, stay awake, leave the rest in his claws. if they want to take your freedom, i’ll take theirs..

his fiery maw extends into a split so wide it’s sickening, and to scatter the cultists surrounding styx, the naga’s constriction included, the blitz of electricity sparks the start of a cascading blaze of fire upon them. it washes over eren’s witch and the scales that protect his every corner like the flow of water, except— it was hot. it was only redness and light and hell on cobblestone. the only thing keeping the alleyway standing were the rock walls the fire licked off of as it built a mushroom of embers seeking the skies above.

eren didn’t know how many were left after that, but he wouldn’t wait to see. witches were powerful, and with enough experience could escape the dropped pool of destructive heat if they were fast enough to form their shields or slip out of sight. perhaps those who hadn’t been prepared for him to douse his own bonded (done only because he knew he was protected) weren’t so lucky. even whilst missing one of his hind limbs, a healing stump that his knee took the most impact from, the dragon crawls quickly down the steaming walls that surrounded the alleyway— his most powerful assets, his wings, were longer, bulkier, and responsible for his bat-like descaling of the building at post haste, with the speed of a slithering snake if it were ever granted limbs.

the one’s that did stay behind, if any, were in for trouble. ]

papa don't preach;

[disasterstraight]

[ Jin Zixuan had begun his investigation into the Evergreen Circle at the behest of the Coven, feeling a need to protect the safety of the city he now considers his home. He did not have much experience with subterfuge— truly, such things are more in his half brother's purview— but the task ahead seemed simple enough: pretend to be interested in what Alder has to say, learn what he can, and report back to the Coven.

Only... He finds that he actually is interested in Alder's speeches, and as time goes on, he reports his findings to the Coven less and less often, until he is attending solely for the genuine desire to learn about Cillian Alder's plan to investigate the Cwyld.

(He has no idea, of course, that this interest has been helped along by some magical suggestion, convincing him to ignore the alarm bells in his head that might otherwise alert him to mistruths.)

During the course of the meeting, Zixuan's keen harpy eyes scan the crowd in attendance, trying to determine who is here because they genuinely want to be, and who is only here on the Coven's orders. So of course he notices the lumbering oaf who has nodded off in the middle of the meeting. How rude! Once the meeting has concluded, Zixuan marches over to him, intent on giving him a piece of his mind. ]

Really. If you're looking for a place to nap, surely you can find better places than this.

[tothemetal]

[one of Styx's best friends is a harpy, which means he can now easily recognize the appearance of flustered feathers when he sees them. uh oh. he hadn't been snoring during the discourse, had he? the already embarrassed flush on his cheeks deepens at the mere possibility.]

I mean, I dunno, these chairs are pretty comfortable? Back's not at a weird angle or nothing.

[...wait, no. this wasn't about whether he'd been comfortable or not! the drummer's mouth had always tended to spew nonsense while being reprimanded by a teacher, and the disapproving gaze of this man is similar enough to elicit that same childhood response. he laughs a little awkwardly and pushes some wayward hair back behind his ear before trying again.]

Was really trying to listen though, honest! 's just a lot of really complicated stuff they're talking about, you know? Kinda wore me out trying to keep up.

[disasterstraight]

[ Do you see this face, Styx? This is the face of someone who is not in any way moved by the apparent comfort of the chairs. Zixuan's feathers are ruffled (literally) as this oaf gets more and more on his nerves with each new word that comes out of his mouth. ]

Do you need someone to explain it to you in very small words so that you will understand?

[tothemetal]

Uh, yeah, if you got the time! That'd be real killer of you, dude.

[while Styx is extremely capable of recognizing any displeasure directed his way, he's less adept at figuring out when people were talking down to him. it's difficult to suss out when you already believe yourself to be at the bottom of the barrel, after all. rather than crumple, his expression lights up at Zixuan's apparent kindness. it's not often that people are so considerate of his limitations when they don't have to be.]

Don't feel like you gotta or nothing, though. Place still seems like it's popping pretty hard...no hard feelings if there's something else you still need to do.

cast out

[adventageous]

[Alice, too, has started taking extra precautions when going out, especially when she does so in anticipation of being a support mage like she is for Styx tonight. She is currently wearing gloves and long pants beneath her skirts in order to better protect herself from any grazing wounds that could become infection points later.

Given how things in the city have been going, exorcisms-that-don't-actually-involve-ghosts (Alice promises there will be one one day, Styx!) have been put on hold in favor of finding and helping people infected with the Cwyld. The two are in agreement on the methodology: save people as much as possible and by whatever means necessary. It's sometimes rough and unpleasant, but so go battles for the soul.

Styx, with his stronger build and practiced physicality, takes the lead while Alice hangs back, using divination spells to help identify the extent of the infection, healing magics to help remove the infection, and support spells to assist Styx with the unenviable job of physical restraint.

Right now, given how much trouble he's having with this turnskin, she's firmly focused on the lattermost task. Murmuring, she releases a burst of energy that envelops the other witch in a protective barrier. It won't totally prevent injury, but it will at least help him should the turnskin lash out too strongly.]

Please, listen to him and let us help you!

[In response, the turnskin practically hisses and renews its thrashing.]

[tothemetal]

[god, this is a bear - quite literally, given the being currently fighting against his tight grip. not that any creature infected by the cwyld was particularly easy to deal with, but starting out with such a prodigious amount of muscle mass certainly didn't help the problem in the least.]

Think - fuck.

[that awful sound echoes again as the turnskin briefly escapes from his crushing bulk and sends sharp claws the drummer's way; if not for his friend's barrier they certainly would have glanced off the unprotected skin of his face. the big guy grunts, electricity beginning to crackle over his body.]

He's in too deep to hear, Alice. We're gonna have to put him out.

[unsurprising, given how most of these encounters have gone...but he still hates to do it, even if it means transporting them to the Coven is easier. it just took so much violence even to render them unconscious.]

[adventageous]

[Alice presses her lips into a thin line. She doesn't like the need for this kind of violence either, but what's necessary is necessary. She can count on one hand the number of times they've been able to successfully talk someone down, and 100% of those cases were Cwyld infections that were clearly traceable to the sorts of activities and exposures that historically have led to them.

Cases like this, with no clear source and a patient nearly berserk... quite frankly, Alice hated them. Which made this work that much more necessary.

She gives her partner a quick nod, although he obviously isn't looking at her at the moment.]

Do what you need to. I'll heal the damage once we get him restrained.

[And with that, she crouches and starts digging through her bag for said restraints.]

[tothemetal]

Um...maybe you don't wanna look, though.

[Styx would make certain that he himself was fine (he'd promised too many people) but he already knows the awful way his electricity made living bodies jump and spasm from the solo encounters he's had in the past. Alice was tough, without a doubt, but why expose a friend to something grotesque like that unnecessarily?

when his companion ducks his gaze he moves in earnest, ramping his own magic up until the turnskin was practically howling in his grasp. its thrashing becomes truly crazed then and the drummer smashes its entire body into the wall repeatedly, both of them falling to the ground to wrestle violently as he continues to increase the voltage being applied.]

cast out;;

[oathkeeper]

[Sora is no newbie to things infected with cwyld. But he's more used to dealing with animals and creatures in the wilde being infected than he is actual people. All of this stuff that creepy old guy is spouting about embracing the cwyld? It's just completely nuts. And now people are vanishing and reappearing sicker than Sora's ever witnessed before.

He's trying to do his best to help who he can too. Trying to shake people into their senses, take them to a healer or in some worst cases just knock them out and take them somewhere safe. This isn't good at all.]

Styx?!

[Sora spots the other orphanage normal with a shout, his ears perking straight upwards. He starts to run for the man.]

Careful! Don't get yourself infected too-! Do you need a hand?! Ack-!

[He's more than used to a fight. So he leaps over to help the other at least try to restrain the infected person. They better be careful!]

[tothemetal]

[huh? Styx turns at the sound of his name, distracted enough by a familiar face's arrival to allow the turnskin in his grasp the opportunity to kick out and very nearly free itself. the drummer grunts, biting down on the pain radiating from his legs and turning the wobble into more pressure applied to the infected victim's neck. shit. he needed to stay more focused than that!]

's fine! Got, uh, got gloves on 'nd shit.

[typically he'd tell anyone - especially an acquaintance - not to potentially expose themselves to real and pressing danger in a situation like this. but given what had just nearly happened...well, it would be more irresponsible to try and tackle this alone. the turnskin deserved to be subdued as quickly as possible, so that they stood a real chance of being saved.]

He's just...nng. Real big.

[oathkeeper]

[He really hopes there's a way for these people to get help. Seeing them sick and wild like this is sickening to Sora's stomach.]

I'll try to help you! Hold on!

[Sora is small and he is more on the fast side than the strength side of things but he's going to do his best to grab this turnskin and restrain those arms. This means Sora is jumping on the turnskin's back and grabbing both arms back from the under the armpits!]

What should we do? Should we knock these guys out cold?

[Just for now??]

[tothemetal]

[the help is appreciated, although initially it appears as if Sora's presence has just made things worse - with a literal prey animal breathing down the beast's neck, the turnskin's addled mind whips itself up into a frenzy. with a pained howl it starts to thrash wildly, trying to desperately wrench itself free and claw at the puca on its back.]

Think we don't got a choice!

[there's no way they're getting someone like this all the way to the Coven without incident if they're still conscious. squeezing tighter around the monster's neck, Styx cracks its head against the wall again in an attempt to slow the resistance. fucking come on! he doesn't want this creature or Sora to get hurt.]

Can't do nothing here...gotta get them to the Coven somehow, yeah?

cast out

[yesdoubt]

[Momo has been trying not to get involved in these interventions too publicly, since he's deep enough into investigating the cult that it might be suspect, but in this case he's wrapped up heavily and on his way to go help out with the Coven's curing efforts when he catches this situation. The combination of the struggling Turnskin and the sight of what looks like healing magic is enough to get him to run over, already in the process of drawing an ice spell on his arm.]

Normal healing magic's gonna worsen it if you're not careful, he needs to go to the Coven. Can you get his arms together? Or at least close to, I can help push them the last bit.

[The Turnskin might need to be knocked out still, but it might be easier to do if they're not simultaneously having to restrain it by hand. Thankfully, since Momo was already off to be handling infected patients, he's covered just about everywhere except the face and thus prepared to lay hands on their impending patient if he needs to.]

[tothemetal]

[Momo's bundled up heavily enough that his friend doesn't immediately recognize him until he speaks, although that may be for the best; distractions could be fatal for anyone involved in this tussle right now and were best kept to a minimum. the drummer smiles when he does manage to recognize the other man, strained though the expression may be.]

'm trying to be careful 'nd shit, 's just - [he grunts, shifting as he prepares to start trying to restrain those dangerous limbs] - he's getting hurt while we're going, yeah?

[it was bad enough for this poor guy to be infected to begin with...Styx's soft heart can't bear allowing the injuries he's inflicting on the monster to linger as well. he's having a hard enough time just fighting to begin with, even as he slams the turnskin against the wall in order to stun him long enough to force his arms behind his back. stupid though he may be, he can tell what Momo's aiming to do here.]

[yesdoubt]

[Momo can see the reasoning, though it only makes him more intent to restrain the Turnskin before he can hurt himself more. So as soon as Styx gets the arms behind his back, Momo's hands encircle them and he lets the spell free, encasing the limbs in a lump of ice. It's not exactly ideal long-term, but he imagines someone in the Coven can get him a restraint that's less likely to cause frostbite.]

I'd try a sleep spell, but when he's this resistant it's probably just gonna backfire... [Unfortunate fact of most compulsion spells is that if the subject isn't willing, it's going to have just about the opposite effect. Quickly, he bends down and casts the ice spell on the feet as well - he's not focusing so much on getting them together in this case as just encasing them completely so the Turnskin won't be able to get purchase on the ground with his feet, though if he can get them both locked together then he will. Slippery feet is just the priority here.]

Think we can drag him there between the two of us? [Turnskins are very strong, but to employ that strength most effectively, he'd need to be able to dig his limbs into something, or plant his feet to fight back. Beyond that, he feels like two strong Witches should be able to handle this transport. Hopefully.]

[tothemetal]

[there, that's...well, it's not fantastic, but it does mean that Styx's own hands are free to better restrain the beast in other places. the faster that they can get this done with the quicker this poor guy can be released from those frosty shackles.]

Yeah, might as well save the energy...

[to do things like sharply check the turnskin when it tries frantically to bash them in with its iceblock arms, for example. the timing ultimately works out to their advantage as Styx's blow knocks the creature back, causing him to lose his footing thanks to their new icy encasings and fall snarling to the ground.]

Um... [shit, he hates seeing people like this.] Pretty sure we can, right? 's only one dude.

preachin

[noblegarnet]

[There had been a few people between Ferran and Styx during the faux-sermon, though it didn't mean that he failed to notice the larger man at first. It wouldn't have made a difference for Styx, either, who's never actually seen the Fae—although it's hard to tell he is one at the moment, with the way his glamor has hidden all traces of scales or wings.

It does mean, however, that now that those people have left, Ferran is the one left to answer. He looks up from the brief notes he's taking of the final points of the speech when he's spoken to, a focused, serious expression on his face at first. Once the question registers, though...

There's a certain exasperated weariness in the pursing of his lips and the raise of his brow, along with a hint of something like pity.]

Styx, [he says quietly, with an air of long-suffering that probably doesn't help the old impression the man already had of him,] go home.

[Three words isn't a lot to get much familiarity out of, especially when they've only had one verbal conversation. Whether the guy will even recognize him is a gamble, but it hardly registers as a concern in the Fae's mind. He's more concerned about the safety of everyone involved.]

[tothemetal]

[...uh? it takes him a moment, each laborious turning of the gears in his mind visible on the giant's face, but Styx actually does manage to struggle through the necessary steps required to grasp the fact he has not actually given this man his name before now. not that it helps very much; the process was so exhausting that there's absolutely not enough remaining mental energy to get him to connect the vague sense of familiarity from this man's voice and Ferran's identity.

one out of two's not the worst in the world though, right?]

Sorry, um...uh, sorry? [nice.] Is the whole thing over?

[try as he might, the drummer just doesn't have the courage to ask the man if they've met before. it's just way too intimidating when he's already being stared at as if he'd just dropped a hundred dollar bill through a sewer grate.]

[noblegarnet]

[Ferran has to wonder why he's encountered this kind of situation again—essentially making sure someone in the same dangerous situation as him isn't going to get themselves hurt due to their carelessness. At least he has experience.]

Alder's done speaking. You could talk with the others, but you'd be at a disadvantage.

[That's the softest way he can put it without outright saying what he's thinking—that Styx isn't going to do much here if he can't even stay awake. Ferran glances over his writing before closing the notebook in his right hand, tucking it and his pen into his coat.]

I'm sure you want to help, but you should know your limits.

[tothemetal]

[his limits..? oh. rather than look discouraged Styx laughs, shaking his head gently as if it could chase off the misunderstanding. that must be where he's met this man (whoever he is) before - it's obvious now that he's a fellow mirrorbound.]

Oh, uh, you don't gotta worry about that or nothing! 'm not trying to...uh, you know.

[he gestures vaguely with his hand, trying to indicate 'infiltrate a possible cult that's super murdering a bunch of civilians in their quest for the ultimate taint or whatever' without actually saying that. it might not be the drummer's quest, but clearly Ferran was here with both intent and skill. no way was he going to ruin that for the guy.]

But I kinda figured I should still check it out? ...I wanna know what the hell they're thinking, to do that.

[and it's here that the big guy's smile falters, dropping into a soft frown. he's seen those branded people, both the ones they've been able to save and those beyond help. what could a person believe to look at that and think they were doing good?]

Guess it's all shit over my head, though. Not too surprised.