Player Plot: The Salvation of Geardagas, Part II

[faileas]

Event Log: February, The Salvation of Geardagas: Part II



CW: This plot has a general content warning for kidnapping, torture, experimentation, violence, drug use (incl. aphro), infection/disease and potential death. This is entirely opt-in.

Spirited Away, Part 2 i. Hypothesis One moment, you were free. The next, you wake up in a cold, dark room with eyes on you and the cloying smell of decay all around you. Characters who have been kidnapped are being kept in the lower floor of Alder's estate, which is a labyrinth of rooms and corridors. Without exception, the way out is always either locked or heavily guarded. All kidnapped characters have been infected with the Cwyld (sometimes by proximity to botanical materials, sometimes by being directly exposed to the violent Shades they already have imprisoned) and are being used to further the Evergreen Circle's research into the nature of the plague. The details of these tests is expanded on in the plotting post and, needless to say, their capturers have very little interest in their wellbeing. They're needlessly cruel, often pitting victims against each other and forcing them to infect newer arrivals as they turn up. Subjects are allowed a few hours of sleep at a time and a small meal- assuming that they're not being purposefully deprived of either- and are locked together in cramped cells. ii. Alternative Theory Some characters, however, escape this particular cruelty in favour of something else just as dehumanising. If a member of the inner circle has taken a liking to someone, they'll take them out of the pool of tests subjects and move them into their households. Servitude is ensured by a strong enchantment that scrambles memories and replaces them with the false knowledge that they've been working there all along. These brainwashed servants might also be forced to participate in the torture and testing of the others.

Initiation The night of the initiation party is here. If you've managed to ingratiate yourself with the cult- or at least a member of rank- you'll have already received an elegant envelope with an invitation and all the details. Or maybe you stole one or put together a convincing forgery. Alder's estate is handsome, with a small courtyard lit up with strings of lights and servants at the double doors to greet guests. Inside is just as grand. The hall and ballroom are impressive spaces with vaulted ceilings painted with elaborate star maps and broken up with marble columns that wouldn't look out of place in a palace. Drinks tables are lined up against the walls and there are several smaller drawing rooms off to the side, all of which are full of guests. Throughout the first hour or so, Alder himself flits from person to person, congratulating them and making smalltalk, but he seems different somehow. Excitable. Eager. Of course, there are other ways one might get in; while the front entrance is closely monitored, the side one leading through the kitchens isn’t. In the hustle and bustle, you might slip through unnoticed. i. Cavorting and Cruelty It isn't long before things take a turn. Alder takes to the head of the room and, with his signature voice amplifying enchantment, addresses his audience. He greets everyone and gives a fairly standard speech thanking guests and welcoming initiates to the Evergreen Circle proper- and then it happens. Servants begin to wheel in cages and tanks, all containing individuals infected with the Cwyld at various stages. Some look to have been drugged, others are wide awake, but the regulars seem delighted by their presence. They whisper and titter and applaud. Some of the more docile victims are even taken out to be showed off like animals at a fayre. "Tonight, let us enjoy the fruits of our labour! Witness the progress we've made and share our blessings among yourselves! Fear will only blind you to taking the next step. Indulge, open your minds and take the first step towards your salvation!" What he means by this quickly becomes apparent. While they're not discussing or mocking the imprisoned witches and monsters, the other guests are partaking of vice the party has to offer. The drinks flow freely and there's a manic energy in the air. Those with sharp senses might recognise that some of it has been artificially crafted by enchantments. Furthermore, if you're looking for missing loved ones, you'll no doubt spot them among the "test subjects" or servants. Good luck trying to snap the latter back to reality, though: their memories have been tightly sealed and it might take some work. One of the drawing rooms has been half curtained off and a woman at the door skittishly offers the curious an aphrodisiac-laden draught, though some might have accidentally had some already. Within, guests are draped over every surface in varying states of undress, though there are partitions up to allow for more privacy. What better way is there to spread the Cwyld and strengthen bonds than intimacy? ii. Midnight Show Things reach a fever pitch around midnight. Once more, Alder calls for everyone's attention. "There's one more thing. I know all of you are loyal, true believers- but everyone must be tested," he says, gesturing to several larger bodyguards, "and we have to protect ourselves. There are those who don't understand us and seek to undo our work. Therefore, we need to tie up loose ends." One by one, the least aggressive Cwyld-infected subjects are dragged from their cages and any remaining individuals are brought out, all restrained. One of the bodyguards is carrying a large ceremonial dagger, which he presses to the vampire at the front’s throat. "Rest assured, their deaths with not be in vain: we have learned much and they will make for the perfect offering to the beings who gave us the Cwyld's blessing!" The knife flashes, ready to cut already decaying flesh- - a blood-curdling scream echoes through the room and glass shatters as a Shade breaks free from its prison. It ploughs into the guests, howling with rage as it tears into anyone and everyone that stands in its way, and others soon follow. At some point during the chaos, Alder appears to realise that he’s been caught. He, along with his inner circle, set to work trying to cover up their actions, setting the basement floor alight and using magic to bring down supports to block doorways completely. If you want to gather evidence, it has to be now, else you can focus your efforts on a rescue mission or chasing the cult leader himself down.

[ ooc: More information about the event can be found on the plotting post along with comments for questions, and an IC vote concerning Alder's fate! ]

Comments

Brennan Trevelyan | Dragon Age Inquisition | Chimera

[outofthebreach]

Content Warning for violence, kidnapping, torture, body horror, experimentation, infection/disease, and probably the whole shebang...

Spirited Away I-A; World Gone Black

[ He can feel the moon rise even though he can't see it, buried deep beneath the earth - he thinks? It pulls on him, as it has been for days now. That dark, restless energy that made him feel like he wanted to crawl out of his skin. It had driven him out alone and that had been his downfall. Now there was no wandering, no open sky. Even his link to his distant Bonded felt strangely twisted and muted, lost in a shroud of fog. He suspected that had something to do with the pinprick of pain he'd felt when they finally subdued him the first time.

With moonrise came pain, agonizing, burning as his body twisted, cracked, broke, and reshaped. His throat went hoarse from the screams. But through it all, he could feel their eyes watching. Hungry. Impatient. It was only after his body had reshaped - his legs strangely bent now, somehow, the very musculature of them changing beneath the thick fur - strange and different and aching in every strained muscle, that they began their work in earnest. They talked, sometimes, although those first few hours he was so delirious from pain he could barely make sense of it. His monster, they exclaimed with diabolical glee, was a unique specimen for experimentation, made up as it was of so many different monster strains. He'd known of bear and wolf - those had been a little hard to miss, through all this. Horse, that one he wouldn't have guessed at. Maybe something to do with the way his legs had broken and reformed. Not a predator, either, which shot his previous theories about what he could be all to hell. Could he hold more, he heard a few of them debate, and something about that very idea made his stomach turn sickly. Would the infection take to his different monsters separately or together?

He doesn't want to know the answer to that question. As they drag him from the room to dump him into a cell, body barely working still in the aftermath of body-breaking pain and transformation, he suspects he's not going to have much say in the matter. ]

Spirited Away I-B; No Light through the Crack

[ He'd barely regained his strength, legs still shaky and unsteady beneath him, his balance all lost in the way his transformed body now held him upright. Not that his cell gave him much room to pace, move, but he tried anyway. Some of the restlessness had faded now that the moon was past its fullest phase, but that just meant the frustration of being trapped kept building. His captors were still watching. Testing. Sometimes he was dragged to another room, pinned down to endure their questions, their prodding - worse. Sometimes he just felt their eyes on him in the darkness beyond his cell.

This morning was a break in the vague routine that had started to form. When he's dragged from his cell, it's to a new room, one much larger, the walls thickly reinforced and the door slamming shut behind him. He's not alone, but as he turns and takes in the figure across from him, he knows he'll find no help here. He thinks it was a harpy, at one time, although the feathers have mostly fallen away, leaving stretches of bare flesh and muscle - blackened and warped and twisted. There's nothing remotely human in the creature's crazed gaze and it launches itself towards him with an ear-piercing shriek.

He fights, even though he's got no sword, no shield. There's nothing in the room he can even use as a makeshift weapon, just himself and the crazed infected out for his blood. It's vicious and savage in a way he's not sure he's ever had to fight before. It's as much instinct from his monster sides as it is the sheer desperation to survive. He loses track of time, caught beneath the frenzy of the harpy's attacks. He's bleeding, countless slashes opened up on limbs and torso from raking talons, the few remaining feathers gone blade-edge sharp, slicing into him even when he does miss a pointed blow. He can feel the way it weakens him, drains him, and he knows that if this fight drags on, his endurance will be the first to give - he's not even sure this maddened infected creature can even feel pain anymore. Which is when his bear's strength roars to the surface - with a literal roar that almost seems to shake the room around them. Hands grip, strength surge, and with a snap of bone, the once-feathered creature goes limp in his hands, life fading from its eyes. He drops it and backs away in disgust.

It's only later when he's back in his cage that he looks down at the myriad of slashes and cuts that still seep all over his body. Notices the way the edges of them are black, the infection shading each of them. Already starting to creep into his veins, spiraling with black webs along his skin. And he laughs, the sound holding no mirth as he clenches his fists and closes his eyes, head thudding back against the wall of his cage. ]

Midnight Show II-A; No Mercy on Me

[ Day and night and day and night. He loses track of the passage of time. The number of times they remove him from his cell. The pain. The prodding. The fights. It becomes a pain-infused blur as he feels that blackness spread through his veins. He thinks he sleeps, but even when he is awake, his vision takes on a strange haze, like this is a dream. A nightmare? He can't tell the difference between them anymore. He starts seeing things. Things he knows aren't there - couldn't be there. Corypheus' haunting laughter, deep-toned mocking cutting deep. The vicious roar of a dragon, the kiss of flames on his skin, the bite of fangs scraping against his seeping wounds. The icy ancient eyes staring at him with no recognition before twisting away into the rabid visage of a wolf. Cullen's eyes gone lyrium-blue (or worse, sometimes, in their crimson depths) and blazing with vengeful fire. Dorian's eyes gone blood-red and gleaming, skin etched with rune-shaped scars that he remembered decorated the ancient Tevinter magister's body. The eyes he felt near constantly no longer belonged to unseen captors, but once-friends now gone dark and unrecognizable as they watched him unravel into the blackness.

He's barely aware when things change again, pulled from his cell once more in too-quick succession, only to be shoved into a different cage. This one is smaller, tighter, making him feel even more trapped and his beasts snarl and rage against the restraint, something dangerous and near-feral in his gaze as he pushes against them, paces the few scant steps within. The cage is moved, making him dizzy and unsettled, and the destination is a vast cavern of a room, filled with the scents of strangers, the sharp sting of magic. Too much noise, too many people, too much everything. He's caught between furious instinct, disorienting hallucinations, and the shattering remains of his Self as the party begins, his cage a sideshow for the revelry spilling out around him. ]

Midnight Show II-B; Playing with Fire (Closed to Dorian)

[ Time passes, the party plays on, the atmosphere around him holding a tension and a frenzy that only seems to simmer and build as the hours tick past. As if growing towards a climax, a crescendo. He knows it's coming and he doesn't know whether to dread it or welcome it in relief. He's dragged from his cage at last, struggles muted and clumsy from the drugs they'd pumped into him earlier when his aggression had grown too strong. He distantly notes all the others being dragged from their cages as well but spares them little thought. He's forced to his knees, sinking down even though the position is awkward and painful with his twisted legs. There's a flash of silver as a blade is pressed to his throat. For a moment, something in him snarls at the threat, but even that is a distant thing. Instead, he gives a convulsive swallow, feeling the edge nick the skin of his throat. A bite of pain, a momentary sharpness that cuts through the drugs and the black shroud that has shaded everything these past hours.

And he closes his eyes, patient. Waiting. Relief it is, then. ]

Midnight Show II-C; Little Bit Wiser

[ That stillness and silence is long gone now. Everything around him is chaos. Screaming. Fighting. Bloodshed. He can smell it in the air, stinging against his skin. The blackness of his veins is still there, but his eyes have gone golden instead of an empty black. Lips are curled into a silent snarl as his wolf rises to the surface. He's been freed, a shard of his sanity returned with the touch of his Bonded's magic, the link blown wide open between them once more. He's careful, trying to shelter his mage from the worst of the fury and hunger that still rages in him, but he can't hide all of it. And it demands an outlet.

He's no longer prey. The predator in him rises up to take control. And he turns, those vicious golden eyes finding the familiar forms of his captors. His tormentors. The eyes that had watched him in the dark. And he smiles, the expression sharp and almost cruel as he launches himself forward into the fight, claws unsheathed as he seeks to spill their blood in recompense. ]

I-A

[exsoldier]

[ Looking back, Zack will ask himself how he let it happen. As a trained SOLDIER with years of experience under his belt and enhancements besides, he shouldn't have been able to let himself get ambushed in that way. He'd been on the patrol routes for a month now, and maybe that was the problem. Maybe he'd let his guard down too much. Or maybe, just like before on Midgar's bluffs, it had been an issue of sheer numbers. They'd decided they wanted him and they'd done whatever it took to make that happen, overwhelming him before he could have a hope of fighting back.

He's now been in this cell for he doesn't know how long, and that's the thing, isn't it? It's dark, it's dim, and there's no way to track the passage of time. He's done this before, and having to go through it yet again is like having his head forcibly held underwater.

The full moon's arrival is a distraction of sorts, and while there's less that has to change now that he's acquired so many of his animal parts permanently, he still has to endure the agony of two wings bursting free from his back, the tearing of skin and splattering of blood that's become the norm for every month.

It's worse than that, though. With his Bond so far away, Cloud having disappeared deep into the Wilde on a trip, holding back on his monstrous instincts is harder than it should be. Zack's slumped on his side, doing everything in his power to cling to what's left of cognizant thought, when the cell door screeches open and another body is dumped inside. There's another one that's already been here, seemingly lifeless in the far corner of cell, who Zack hasn't had the wherewithal to investigate yet.

As for this new person, though? It takes some squinting through the dark, but his sharpened eagle-eye vision allows him to piece together that it must be another chimera. The bent-back limbs, the mess of fur — do these people just want to put them all together for some reason?

Zack pushes himself up, his bloodied wings sagging behind him, and pads forward. His feet are digitigrade now, something he always has to adjust to when the monthly changes happen, but he makes it over and crouches down at the side of his new cell mate. ]

Hey. [ He grabs for a shoulder and shakes, taking care that his nails that are more like talons don't dig into flesh. ] Hey, you alive? [ How many times had he mumbled things like this to Cloud, within the depths of the Shinra mansion? The memory makes his stomach twist. Still, at least this is serving to keep his mind clear, to not let the monstrous nature buried inside him come to the forefront. ]

[outofthebreach]

[ The first answer Zack gets is a groan, a curse lost somewhere in the pained sound, muffled through clenched teeth. Wolf ears twitch atop his head, trying to take in everything around him as he tries to reorient himself. Not an easy feat when he's not familiar with this place to begin with.

But the sound of an unfamiliar voice has golden eyes flickering open adjusting to the dim light around them and seeing through it easily. He searches the stranger's face a moment before giving a pained laugh and letting his head fall back against the floor of the cell.

Not one of his captors, then. ]

Pretty sure I hurt too much to be dead...

[exsoldier]

[ The ears catch Zack's attention when they twitch around, mainly due to how familiar they are to him by this point. Not in this man, but Cloud and Geralt immediately come to mind. Thinking of friends of his, Zack silently hopes that none of them have been dragged into this. It's a relief to know that Cloud is out of town at the moment, even if it means that the likelihood that he'll come looking for him is lessened.

If there's one thing Zack's learned about situations like this, it's that it's better not to wait for a rescue to come.

That laugh, along with the answer that the stranger gives? It all hits a little too close to home. Zack lets out a breath and nods. ]

I know the feeling. [ Is it better or worse that he isn't referring to the current moment? Probably worse. He shifts back to sit on the cell's floor, though remains near to the other Mirrorbound. ] Just had to coincide with the full moon, on top of it all. How'd they get you?

[ Talking will hopefully distract from the pain, at least. ]

[outofthebreach]

Full moon.

[ The words are gritted out in echo, but he drags one arm up to drape over his eyes for a moment. He doesn't move yet, just lays there and breathes. Waits to see if some of this pain fades away. His furred legs shift - still strange, muscles twisting in a way they shouldn't, joints that he'd never even felt before aching as if he'd run a marathon. ]

Was too restless to stay put. Careless of me. Should have had Dorian tie me too a chair. I was too distracted, they had me surrounded before I even realized.

II-C; here to assist with doing a murder(s)

[gynvael]

[ In the midst of all the chaos, it's hard to discern enemy from victims lashing out or panicking in their attempts to flee. Though there is, at least, one distinctive marker: the blackened signs of infection, spreading.

It's when he's ahead, trying to clear a path so Yen can get Jaskier out of there, that he runs into one of the escaped prisoners. Literally, in fact: Geralt's got his grip on one of the cultists when a body slams into him full force from the side. He hits the ground, dagger sliding across the floor.

Ah, fuck. He scrambles to his knees. Pointed wolf ears, like his own. The eyes are cold and as the cultist he'd been struggling with runs forward to attack again, Geralt finds himself instinctively moving out of the way instead. Something tells him he does not want to be caught in that wolf's path. ]

he hopes you plan on more than one >.>

[outofthebreach]

[ The other fighter had been an unintended obstacle, barely registering on Brennan's radar in his fury to reach the cultist he fought. He recognized this one, could smell the sickly-sweet scent of infection on him, and the almost-faded scent of harpy. One of the masters, then.

Brennan's lips curl into a smile, but it is full of teeth. He launches forward with a snarl, claws outstretched and swiping viciously, before impaling the man through the gut. He feels the blood on his skin, hears the choked gasp gurgling in his throat, but his expression is one of disgust as he removes his entire hand from the man's body and dumps him on the floor.

And then spits on him for good measure.

Which is when golden eyes narrow and he turns to eye the man watching, feeling those eyes on him. He stops at the sight of them, though, finding them surprisingly similar to his own. It has him going strangely still, assessing, his head tipped inquisitively to the side. ]

Sorry. I'd offer you a hand up, but I don't think it would be wise to touch me right now.

[ Not with the way infection is still spiderwebbed beneath his skin, tracing up along his veins from various cuts and wounds all over his body. ]

[gynvael]

[ There's enough blood and insides splattered on the ground that Geralt's not sure how uninfected anyone will walk out of here being. Though the caution is appreciated. It also tells him the man is pissed off, but not yet fallen feral. At least not entirely.

He reaches for his dagger, closing around the grip as he rolls to his feet. Warning or not, he reaches for the man's shoulder, anyway, to try and push him out of the way of an incoming fireball—though from one who, he has no idea.

The curtains behind them spark, lighting ablaze. The only way through is forward: filled with both the dead and dying, and a group trying to block the doors. Somehow, he doesn't think it'll slow his new companion down. Right now, it's what they both need. He still has to find where the fuck Jaskier went. ] This way.

[outofthebreach]

[ You'd think one would develop a sixth sense for fireballs eventually - especially when one is dating a mage who throws them about with alarming frequency. But magic is still beyond most of his new monster senses, so he's grateful for the push, leaning back just in time for the spell to go scorching past him.

And igniting a large swath of draperies. ]

Shit.

[ That's going to up evacuation on the importance scale over murdering every cultist he comes across, and his irritation shows plainly on his face. But he falls into step with the other man, narrowed gaze searching through their surroundings. And not spotting his Bonded, although he can feel him here somewhere. ]

We're going to have to clear that exit. Smoke gathering in here is going to be more dangerous than the spreading fire. [ At least at first.

...Plus, he just really doesn't relish the idea of being trapped anywhere right now. ]

Spirited Away I-B

[electrod]

[ There's something unsettling about the harpy shade the chimera has fought. They say these creatures are key to enlightenment; the Cwyld, just a path. And it all makes sense because finally, something is trying to do something. But like in a lucid dream, Reno is simultaneously realizing how downright wrong it is. Then it's covered by a mist again. He's asked about his opinion, strangely enough— what he thought of the fight, how did it make him feel, what he hopes for. That kind of attention weirds him out, but the moment of clarity once again passes.

At least until he's tasked with bringing food and bandages to the chimera— he is strong, but they can't have him expire too soon... ]

Yo. [ He falls down to a squat near the cage. ] Guess I'm yer butler tonight— ain'tcha lucky?

[ He puts a bowl with cold soup (or something resembling that) near the cage ]

I even got some dumplings, bonus service. That's a secret though. [ These actually look like food, mostly because they are from the actual dinner table. Brainwashed or not, the harpy instinct to steal something enticing is still there. ]

[outofthebreach]

[ He'd been in too much pain to even look up when he felt a presence approach. When an unfamiliar voice calls out, he manages to open one eye, his expression not entirely pleasant.

Then again, he's still considering everyone outside of cages in this place an enemy. Hell, even some within the cages were probably turning enemy by now, even though they had as little say in the matter as he did.

He hoped that harpy hadn't been someone like him, even though he wasn't naive enough to fully believe that.

Still, eyes half-lidded, he gave the redhead a suspicious look as food was pushed into the cage. The dumplings certainly were new, as his captors had hardly offered anything considering 'appetizing' the entire time he'd been here. The smell made his stomach clench in hunger. ]

Here to gloat?

[ He's not actually sure about that. Usually, the only people who come up to the outside of his cage are the cultists and their soldiers. ]

[electrod]

[ It's really just his job to feed the others and keep them alive, among other duties. A boring job, but still a job, and he prides himself for always doing that well. Even in circumstances that don't make it easy. ]

Just wondering if you're interested.

[ And yeah he's petty, so he's starting to eat one of them while offering the other ]

Are you?

[outofthebreach]

In what? Listening to you gloat? Not especially.

[ His gaze is narrowed as he watches, although he makes no move to come closer to the bars where the other figure perches. His stomach is already tight with hunger - has been for days now, because what little they bring is hardly enough to keep any monsters held captive here anything remotely resembling 'well-fed'.

And honestly, he doesn't have the patience to play whatever little taunting game this asshole is trying to play here. ]

II-A

[chaoticbeauty]

[ This had to be Dorian's bonded, having gotten him calmed at least a bit before slipping away. She hadn't seen Jaskier yet, but she also hadn't done much hunting -- not sure if she could stomach it. She'd seen some fairly horrific shit, had dealt with too many people far too young dying in her arms and around her, and this was somehow almost impressively worse than that day on the fucking beach. Her desire to not want anything to fucking do with someone else exploiting those too young or distorted to protect themselves apparently wasn't going to end just by coming here.

The shadows seem to bend a bit around his cage as she nears him -- Dorian's scent still clinging a bit to her dress from when she'd all but wrapped herself around him to keep him from killing someone. She also carries the heavy scent of another turnskin-- a white wolf. She creates a barely discernable barrier to the naked eye, sending off a suspicious cultist with a coy lie. Saying she wanted to play with him a bit before he was too far gone. Something about performance anxiety with an audience. The malicious and almost cruel smile melts to something kinder as she approaches the cage. ]

I don't have long. But if you can hear me, we're going to get you out. All of you. I'm a friend of Dorian's. [ She leaves off her plan to kill as many as possible, not sure if that would be a comfort or a hindrance when it comes to getting through. ]

[outofthebreach]

[ The voice is a change of pace from everything else he's heard tonight - most of it having been cultists and their friends in crazed revelry and... other moods Brennan would prefer not to think about, honestly.

Clarity comes and goes, but every time the room and the crowd comes into focus, he almost wishes it hadn't.

The person standing before his cage now, though... she doesn't quite strike him as the rest. There's no glint of cruelty in her gaze, no touch of the infection on her skin. And... he catches a whiff of a familiar scent a moment before she drops his Bonded's name and he instantly comes alert, ears pricking forward as he stares at her with a dulled golden gaze. ]

Dorian? [ His voice is strained and hoarse - maybe from disuse, maybe from other causes - but there's still hope in the sound. ] He's alright...?

[chaoticbeauty]

[ She’s pointedly not had much to drink, avoiding some of the quieter corners they’re offering for privacy. It wasn’t worth it and she had no interest in losing herself tonight. This whole mess had been enlightening on more than one front for Yennefer, another reminder that she wasn’t the emotionally supportive type. That she wasn’t skilled in offering genuine comfort, often only having fake platitudes and telling them exactly what they want to hear in the moment.

The time between Jaskier’s disappearance and this party has really tested her resolve, but this felt important. A way to pass along a message of her own whilst keeping Dorian at a distance. Checking in so she could update his bonded should he ask.

The golden gaze throws her for a moment, unsettling a deep seated fear of her own -- of why she’d fought so hard to keep Geralt in the house. To avoid seeing his distinct gaze staring back through bars. ]

He’s alright. Taking a moment to compose himself. [ She doesn’t bother asking how he’s doing, what he needs. She has to be careful. Lifting her arm, she wraps delicate fingers around one of the bars of the cage, letting her body posture shift to something far more relaxed than she actually was while obscuring her mouth from the view of any onlookers. She’d found bare skin was often enough of a distraction from her true purposes, her backless dress hopefully serving its purpose tonight. ] I don’t have much time before someone gets suspicious.

[ So if there are any messages he'd like passed along, now is the time to tell her. Before she can ask a question of her own. ]

[outofthebreach]

[ Golden eyes slide shut at the sound of her answer, and he tentatively reaches out to the Bond that's felt so muted beneath all the drugs and pain these past few weeks. He can practically feel the mage's presence humming at the other end although it still feels slightly suffocate somehow.

He'd missed that reassuring warmth at the edge of his awareness more than anything.

Heaving out a deep sigh, he opens his gaze to meet the woman's once more, taking in her pose and realizing at once what she was doing. A clever distraction on her part and one he was grateful for. ]

I know it's pointless to tell him to get out while he can, but at least remind him to be careful, would you? Dorian can be rather... volatile when he's angry.

[ Which worked well when Brennan was there to call attention to himself on the battlefield, giving him room to work, but not so much when Dorian flamed so brightly on his own. ]

Who are you?

IA

[cyclopticsadist]

[At first Niles remains motionless as a new cell mate is tossed in, curled tightly into a ball at the far wall, but as the steps of the cultist fade out he gets up on all fours, and walks over.]

You conscious? You look like shit.

[He sits beside the mass of fur, and with little preamble starts grooming him.]

[outofthebreach]

[ He'd needed a moment laying flat on the floor to try and get his bearings. Catch his breath.

He hadn't expected another voice to come from inside here with him and he jolts a little, but it's what the new stranger does that has him scooting away on the floor with a hand held out, eyes a little wide and alarmed. ]

Hey, hey, whoa! I usually prefer a 'hello' and introductions before tongue gets involved.

II-B, the one with his name on it! :>

[magisterium]

[Relief never comes, not the way Brennan might expect. Dorian has little time to think and no choice but to do it quickly; the distance between them is closed the moment the Shade makes its appearance and offers just enough of a diversion to let him get close. The man holding the knife to his bonded's throat seems taken aback, the sudden explosion of activity erupting throughout the room, and that split-second of surprise is all Dorian needs.

A quick enchantment executed with a violent, decisive wave of his hand dulls the blade, and no sooner has it done so than he sends a fireball directly at Brennan's captor. It's well-aimed, followed by a howling scream of pain and the smell of burnt flesh as the cultist has no choice but to release the chimera, clawing at his own face as he recoils and hits the ground in an attempt to put out the flames that have caught on his cloak in addition to robbing him of his sight.

Dorian's own heart is racing as he reaches out to seize Brennan by his wrist, able to feel his slowed heartbeat and dread and the way the drugs have clouded his mind through their bond, and something sticks in his throat, as heartbroken as he is furious. He forces himself to swallow it down; Brennan is no longer caged, but they are far from done here.]

Amatus, can you stand?!

[outofthebreach]

[ It happens so quickly that it takes Brennan a moment to catch up. His reactions slow and sluggish - mostly due to the drugs, but also just the bone-deep exhaustion that's sunken deeper into him as days progress and the infection spreads.

He stares down at the screaming cultist on the floor dispassionately, giving a slow blink before his mind registers those fingers wrapping around his wrist. And that voice. How long has it been since he'd heard it outside of his hallucinations?

His head comes up, disbelief written across his features. ]

Dorian? [ His voice is raw, hoarse, and torn, sounding like he'd been given it far too much or far too little use of late.

But then the warm touch to his skin sends alarm bells clanging in his mind and he jerks out of that grip with a horrified gasp, falling backwards and away from his Bonded, eyes wide and terrified. ]

No, Dorian, stay back! You can't...! Don't touch me, it's not safe!

[magisterium]

[He wastes no time even as Brennan pulls away from him— the concern is certainly touching, but if Dorian is going to catch the Cwyld, it won't be from him. Just biding his time at this party for as long as he has was likely enough to expose him, and even if it weren't, he quite honestly doesn't care.

He reaches out to seize Brennan's wrist once more, giving a firm shake of his head.]

I did not wait all this time and come all this way not to help you! We'll handle the infection as we must, but first we need to get you out of here!

[Him and everyone else, because even with the current state of things buying them some time, there's no telling how long it will last.]

Please, amatus, come with me.

Midnight Show II-A

[claritatis]

[Some of them look further gone than others, but they have to be able to get all of them out. Ignis approaches Brennan quite quietly, barely recognising him through the effects that the infection has had on his body, but despite not knowing him well he still wants to reassure him that they are going to get all of them out.

At the moment, it's hardly a coordinated effort... but with all of them having more or less the same goal in mind he doesn't doubt that things will come together when the time comes.]

Brennan. [Maybe he's too quiet considering the noise around them, but speaking too loudly isn't a risk he can take. Brennan looks to be in a bad way... Would he even know friend from foe.]

Brennan, do you recognise me?

[outofthebreach]

[ His head had fallen back against the bars of his cramped cage, eyes closed as he tries to block out the sounds of the partying around him. The scents of so many strangers. For someone who's been kept in near-solitude for weeks now with only brief and infrequent - and often unpleasant - interludes, the sudden change of surroundings is disorienting and overwhelming.

Especially when he doesn't have full control over his senses at the moment. His instincts. He's quickly losing the strength to draw them back under his firm grasp and he wonders if that, too, had been their intent. Their captors' games so far had ever been manipulative and subtle - except when they weren't.

The sound of his name, however, has golden eyes blinking open in narrowed suspicion, however. For a moment, Ignis might get the sense of a predator peering out from behind those eyes as his wolf stirs close to the surface but another blink and its Brennan staring back at him. Albeit in great exhaustion. ]

Yes.

[ His voice is hoarse and strained. Raw-sounding and tired. It looks like it takes almost too much energy to manage even that. ]

You shouldn't be here.

[claritatis]

[Oh, he sees it, though he has little to fear with the bars between them and the somewhat sickening assurance that any violent actions by the captives will be swiftly dealt with by any nearby cultists. But it's gone as soon as it flashes across Brennan's eyes, and Ignis crouches down beside the cage.

From the outside, he looks like nothing more than another over-curious party-goer, peering at the merchandise. Not a thought he enjoys, but one he'll take if it protects him from retaliation.]

I'm not going to argue with you, there. [Ignis replies a little dryly.] But neither should you.

[He glances offside for a moment, making sure he isn't being overlooked.]

Something there are plans to remedy. Don't lose heart.