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Player Plot: The Salvation of Geardagas, Part II
Event Log: February, The Salvation of Geardagas: Part II
Spirited Away, Part 2
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.
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Initiation
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.
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?
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! ]
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Landing lightly in a crouch, Killua spits out the mushroom and scrubs his own dirty sleeve across his face. It doesn't help much. He's still in filthy, frayed clothing -- just an undershirt and trousers, at this point -- and still thoroughly infected, himself.
But something slight does seem to change. His eyes, for a moment, don't look nearly so empty. His face isn't that cold, blank mask.
Jaskier's reaction and the awful, acrid taste still burning at the back of his tongue had startled him enough to break through the endless stream of whispers and screams in his own head, the visions lurking in the corners, the bloodlust eating him from inside. It breaks through, just enough for him to realize all of a sudden where he is. And with whom.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck--
Killua's head snaps up, looking around at the spectators before his gaze settles on Jaskier.
This time, he digs his claws into the ground, scraping at it unpleasantly as if trying to press himself into the stone. His ragged, heavy breathing picks up, loud. ]
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And yet it's all he has. And it's enough. For a moment. Killua's choking on the mushrooms gives him a second to breathe, though it much closer to a desperate gasp for air. It's enough room for Jaskier to grib his shoulder, the hot stickiness of tainted blood staining his already putrid clothing. The pain of it may have been excruciating days ago, but it's one more on top of many others -- except this is horribly hotter, and more intimate, because the boy who'd done it has free reign to do it all over again.
He's not even sure they care anymore if he survives. Perhaps the experiment has gone on far enough --
Jaskier takes the startled opportunity to try to crawl on his elbows backwards but, honestly, he has nothing left in him. His head thumps back to the ground, his body screeching for air, through the pain. He has no choice but to watch Killua snap to attention, looking up, and then back at him.
This is it. Of course he will retaliate. And Jaskier can't do much other than hold his bleeding shoulder.
He flinches as Killua's hand lifts --
And flinches again at the sound.] Are you... here? [Gods, what the fuck was he saying? But he's not stupid. The boy now is nothing like the one he met. He's like -- like Geralt, when he was feral. Jaskier winces, gripping his shoulder tighter as the blood thickens at the wound's entrance.] I don't -- I really don't want to -- to do that again.
cw self harm
It's... it's you.
[ This Witch is Geralt's Bonded. Geralt's... friend.
Killua's breathing stutters, and he coughs again, trying not to retch. His eyes sting. The scent of blood and rot fills his lungs, one more familiar than the other, both calling to him.
With difficulty, Killua tries to force himself to maintain his tenuous grip on reality. Suddenly, he lifts one of his hands, claws still sharp and bloody-- but instead of striking out at Jaskier again or even trying to get closer, he grabs his own upper arm and digs his nails in deep.
The pain is fresh and sharp. The one thing he can control.
Behind Jaskier, the silhouette of a tall, dark-haired man no one else can see flickers, shadows lifting slightly. It's not real.
But Jaskier is. ]
Listen to me. [ Killua pants, hot blood dripping down his arm and soaking through his dirty sleeve. ]
No matter what happens, you have to run. Or- or fight, if you have to, but if you do-- then don't hold back.
Don't hesitate. Or I'll kill you.
[ It's not a threat. It's just the truth. ]
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The last bit of energy reserves he had are far beyond drained, and Jaskier all but collapses underneath him. Fuck. It's more than he ever managed with a feral wolf, after all, and even if the boy is annoying -- or that's all he'd thought of him once -- at least he didn't seem the type to want to do this (if any of them truly did).
Jaskier still flinches. He stares at Killua's hand. Waiting for the moment to end. It lifts higher --
There's blood, but it's not his.] Hey. Hey, stop that. That's not going to --
[He quiets. He does listen, but. Gods, he has no idea, does he?] I'm going to be very honest with you. [He shifts his leg, boot dragging across the dirt.] I can't fight you. Quite literally.
[If only it was a question of morality. Jaskier has nothing against protecting himself, of course, but -- he's being realistic. There's nothing he can do against someone that strong.] Is it the -- the Cwyld? I'm already full of it. You can't infect me any more.
[If Killua's anything like him, he feels the instinct to spread. But what's the point of spreading it to someone with it growing out of them already?]
no subject
[ Killua tears his bloody claws from his own skin, red splashing onto the concrete beneath them as he scrambles backward, further away. He stumbles to his feet, grabbing hold of the bars of the cage opposite Jaskier, as far away as he can get.
He's already tried to break through; it didn't work, and he has the broken ribs to prove it from the beating his received for even attempting. There's a magical barrier beyond the bars that won't let anything through from this side.
But, somehow, it doesn't work both ways. ]
Hey! Assholes! Are you fucking kidding me with this guy?
[ he shouts, yanking on the bars until the metal creaks and bends.
If Jaskier's lucky, they'll listen to him. Maybe they'll push weapons through the bars and hit or electrocute him again. The electricity doesn't bother him, even if it hurts, but his captors don't have to know that; he can play at being unconscious, but it has to be convincing.
And he has to be able to hold onto his better sense long enough to keep it up. He has to ignore the whispers turned to shouts in his head, screaming at him to stop being such a useless coward and do what he was made to do and kill that man. ]
I said no! No way. He's a joke! Give me something I can really fight!
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[Certainly changes things, doesn't it? Now, he can't really comprehend why a little witch would want to kill him, but to be honest, Jaskier's has a fair share of people who wanted to kill him for various reasons, mostly stupid ones.
Or he's so exhausted it doesn't really matter anymore.
Jaskier utters a not so gentle fuck as he sits up, holding his shoulder. Gods, the fucking ache of the thing. He shivers. Now that he's moving, not entirely sure he won't die in the next moment, he feels a terrible cold go through him. The squeal of the metal bars, the taunts. In the moment, they feel horribly real. And it's not as if he knows otherwise.
The other monsters hadn't hesitated. Not... not most of them. Fuck. He cannot start seeing things now. This would be. The worst moment.
He pushes to his feet, but it's a struggle.] Normally I would be terribly insulted.
[A voice seems to answer Killua, but Jaskier can't tell where it comes from. Is it just in his head? No, it vibrates through the arena. It's not just him. Not so. He'll fight. In his own way.
Jaskier blinks. Something goes through him, his fingers sparking. Magic fills the void it had left previously.] Ah, fuck.
[He looks up. Does Killua feel it, too?] You may as well try and fight me. [Before they think of something worse. Something that can hurt or kill the both of them. He tugs on his magic and, though he can't feel his Bonds anymore, it's not quite so empty inside him. Blue smoke rises from his fingertips, growing thicker, forming near his feet. The sleeping spell. He isn't fast or strong enough to direct it towards him, but he can at least... protect himself. Perhaps that's what they want to see. How much he can survive.] We don't have a choice.
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[ With his own magic dampened so much he can't even create a spark, Killua can only feel the faintest hint of something shifting in the air around them; he doesn't understand what's happened until Jaskier begins to produce some sort of... smoke?
Before he can figure out what it is, someone jabs a stick into his chest, and white spots erupt in front of his eyes as the sharp electric current runs through his whole body again, making the fine hair on his cut-up arms stand on end. His jaw tightens, but he doesn't make a sound. He barely even trembles, though the electricity crackles visibly on his skin.
Instead, he moves nearly as fast as the lightning itself to grab the stick and, snarling through clenched teeth, shove it with great force right back at its holder at an angle meant to break or at least unpleasantly strain their wrist. The hooded individual swears, but the reaction from the others is immediate.
An unseen force slams into Killua, pain erupting across his skin like the prick of thousands of needles. His arms move up immediately on instinct to defend his face, but he's defenseless against magic. The supernatural shove sends him flying--
Right into Jaskier and his blue cloud. ]
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His magic didn't. It had always been for others, really, except for that fucking heating spell. And as he watches Killua being shocked, the crackle of it snapping through the air, and the faint smell of burning --
Well. That spell simply won't do much, will it?
No. It's not going to do bloody anything. He covers his ears, the shout of the Circle member echoing through the room. It's all too much. It's --
Killua slams into him. Jaskier grabs him on instinct so he doesn't fall over, except they're both absolutely tumbling down. The smoke curls thicker, and though he has no misgivings about being able to hold the kid down, he's trying, ignoring the searing pain of his shoulder. Trying to make him inhale the sleeping spell, surrounding and coating both of them. It's all he has.] Just sleep. Just go the fuck to sleep. Please. Please.
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But it does. Killua gulps in the blue smoke like he's trying to drown in it, until his body sags on top of Jaskier's and the crowd starts booing at the anticlimactic ending to the short fight.
Even if he gets punished for it later, it's better this way. ]