(semi-closed)

[foursakes]

Who: four + closed prompts
When: through august
Where: the daisy chain, the wilde, city wide.
What: some quests and closed prompts! i’d be happy to write one for you as well if you’re interested— feel free to contact me (liberos or owlie#3609) or hit up four’s plotting comment for the month!
Warnings: probably just some sickening inner dialogue, four is four.

Comments

mobile tagging, man, i can't even get rid of typos

[foursakes]

[ now i really want to see it be a squirrel. today though, it is not. the first thing to poke into view are long ears, like those of a hare (although far too large to be a hare). snarls and chokes make themselves known, and nearly instantly, four knows what it is. ]

There's never less than one of these beasts.

[ a wolf. wolves, in fact, once they take a look around and see that they're being preyed upon. large ears point up like rods, tar oozes from its mouth, and its hackles are brittle and sickly, white eyes void of pupils. ]

Cotton, for your ears. [ he may not need to ask for a demonstration. ] I've been told that it's wise not to let the ill snap at you. Disgusting—

[bloodwit]

[ what a twist of fate, he thinks, that he should be the one to rely on physical prowess, the token of power—magic—in another's hands. ]

At this point, we'd be doing them a service -

[ viren takes to her suggestion; he reaches to a pouch which contains some medical supplies, hurriedly grabbing for the cotton to block his ears. he must rely on sight, now; potentially dangerous as to these creatures' numbers, but a necessary risk. and so, ]

At the ready, Lady Four.

[ with the appearance of the wolves' corruption, he's decided: if this is infection of the land is anything, it's a waste. one of the rabbit-eared wolves, braver, continues to snarl, prowls forward. viren brandishes his weapon, readies himself to strike through flesh. ]

[foursakes]

[ four is more than happy with a supporting idea. put them down, that’s absolutely right. ]

Let us make it quick, then, and may the blight be gone with them.

[ and so, she breathes in deep, something still oh so very natural to her— four pours intent into the voice that follows, a splitting scream that distorts in an ugly way the longer she holds a note. it may not be able to summon armaros, or zophiel, or even the magic that she had made herself known for. but it would do, to get the wolves either darting back from where they came, or stunning them in their tracks.

they’re sitting ducks. or, writhing fiends. it’s why four doesn’t stop so long as viren is well and moving. ]

[bloodwit]

[ for an old dude, viren's fairly quick on his feet. he wouldn't have volunteered to come if he didn't think he had something to offer. but when four begins with her first note (rather, as a scream - he would note it as ugly, if he could fully hear), he's met with more resistance than he'd like - his hurried cotton fix came with the price: that of stuttering movements, the occasional strike duller than he'd anticipate. ]

[ but no matter - the staff's pointy end makes good work. slashes through diseased flesh are greeted with unheard cries from the beasts, and the twin prongs pierce into necks, with all the proper, aggressive forcefulness of putting something dangerous out of its misery. and when it doesn't suit him, he uses it like a club - there's the inaudible breaking of ribs, the crack of skulls. their shadowy remains are picked up by the wind, exposing their truer, decayed forms. ]

[ honestly, with their vulnerability to four's magic, they hadn't a chance in hell. ]

[ viren slows, his gaze raking over the foliage to spy any remaining shades lurking about. the staff stills; he takes a moment to catch his breath, gaze turned towards her. if she can hear, or if she can make out how his mouth moves: lady four. ]

[foursakes]

[ four has always been skilled in maintaining notes as she fought. for the first few moments, she doesn’t need to lift a finger; the wolves are either staggering straight into viren’s staff or attempting to snap at it, at them. the sound of bones fracturing into the decaying bodies are drowned, and even when four does decide to swing her gauntlet into the gut of a writhing beast (it’s split in halves, in the dirt, where a mucky blackness splatters with the splinter of rips into something . . . even more deformed than it used to be.

whether she stops because there are no more, or because she sees viren’s lips move is a little uncertain, but nevertheless— it stops. ]

My Lord? [ all is well? asks her tone. ]

[bloodwit]

[ that was quite the hit. despite himself, the corners of viren's mouth turn upward in a smile, before the expression to his typical stoicism. he pulls cotton from his ear, briefly; inclining his head, ]

Apologies; I don't mean to interrupt you.

[ and all their good work! he can hear rustling of another shade within thick brush that he hadn't been able to spy. the noise of a clashing of teeth and a deep, rumbling growl greet him; freed from four's ability, it begins to stir back to its proper vivacity. ]

I meant to ask if all had been destroyed, but—

[ alas, that's apparent; there's the beat of paws crackling through the undergrowth. viren lifts his weapon again; he'll take care of the one to his left, he thinks, leaving four to what, if anything, that remains near to her. he gives her a nod, pushing the cotton back into place. if she chooses to sing again - well. that's to her discretion. ]