☆ Event Log: Snatched, Part One

[faileas]

Event Log: January, Snatched - Part One

I. The Fires (14th) Though it began this month with petty vandalism, before long, things escalate. On the evening of the 14th, when many are settling down for the night, fires blaze to life simultaneously all over the city, though they seem to cluster in places that Mirrorbound and refugees frequent. Homes, businesses, market stalls, the Barracks, the Residential Districts, they could pop up anywhere, but the worst of them seem to hit different locations within the Haven. The refugees stand to lose a lot in the fires, everything they've built up since arriving here at the end of September, and Mirrorbound stand to suffer damage to the homes or businesses they've built in Aefenglom. No doubt everyone is quick to catch on, but with so many locations burning at once, help is thin on the ground. As soon as they're alerted, the Coven sends out a call to all Witches, Merrow, water-based Dragons, anyone who can manipulate water or ice to help put out the fires across town before they can spread. With the city plan so tight and buildings so close together, it's a real worry. They'll accept all hands, even those with no particular water-based talents - anybody can carry buckets, after all. Bucket brigades made up of mostly Monsters form from the River Temese out to pass water to where it's needed most. Others with fire magic or resistances are asked to search the buildings still on fire for anyone still trapped inside. On the streets, more set up stations to treat burns and smoke inhalation, and to check people over for worse injuries. It takes a couple of hours to put out the last of the flames, but thanks to quick action, no lives are confirmed lost. The City Guard is present at the sites of the fires in the hours afterward, questioning witnesses and determining the sources with both magical and Monster-ability-based methods, but as the chaos calms down, it quickly becomes clear that 1. this is a case of purposeful arson, and 2. not all witnesses are present. Maybe it's your friend, or family member, or just an acquaintance you know you saw go into their house at the end of the day, but they're conspicuously absent from the crowds gathered on the streets. Those who are Bonded to a missing person feel it first, though - a horrible sensation like a pillow over the face or a tightening in the chest, smothering their Bond to barely anything, except the very rare flicker of something, a tiny spark lost to the darkness as soon as it's felt. The sudden absence of them is like a case of phantom limb, something that should be there suddenly isn't, but yet it isn't quite an annullment or breaking of the Bond. It's still there, just muted and tamped down. It feels a little different for everyone, maybe painful or maybe just uncomfortable, or maybe, in the cases of new or less-close Bonds, it simply feels as if it never existed. Regardless, those Bonded can't be found through Bonds. It's like those loved ones have vanished, without a trace. The City Guard and Coven representatives alike will seek to make a comprehensive list of all who have gone missing, but Mirrorbound cooperation will be needed for that; they would know better than anyone, because the missing ones are all Mirrorbound or refugees.

II. The Lost Souls (14th - 20th) CW: Torture, captivity, restraints. You were spirited away in the middle of the night. Maybe you were out, or maybe you were safe in your own home, but either way, someone managed to get the drop on you. Upon waking, everything is fuzzy, until clarity returns suddenly and violently. It's possible to remember a struggle, an enchanted darkness that might have enveloped you, maybe even a glimpse of the face of the human or Witch who grabbed you, but now you're stuck in a small, stone cell, the only entrance covered in shiny new bars thick enough to hold back a rampaging Dragon. The hall beyond is also stone and dimly lit by sparse magitech lights and the soft, runic glow of spells drawn on the walls and floors. There are more cells like yours, filled with more Monsters and Witches like you. What's worse, maybe you're alone, or maybe another poor soul is trapped with you - the space isn't exactly large enough for two, but the comfort might be nice. Witches will find their magic restrained, tamped down with a spell similar to the Coven's punishment for lawbreaking. Monsters' restraints are more traditional - muzzles, chains, manacles, and particular weaknesses that differ from Monster type to Monster type, such as silver or iron, water, or the lack of water. Even if, by some small mercy, a person finds themselves with their hands free, all of the captives' Watches have been taken, along with most other belongings on them. The uncertainty of your new location doesn't last for long. It's only a matter of time before people pass through the cellblock in pairs or trios, talking to each other and ignoring the captives behind bars, checking up on the spells that line the room. Those with keen memories will realize - these are not the same people who took them in the first place. All are human, and they all share a familial resemblance - black hair, violet eyes, pointed noses, and unpleasant sneers. Over time, with observation (and what else are you going to do, while you wait for the worst?), maybe frequenters of the Coven will pick out a familiar face, a haughty, unpopular Witch named Constance Rathmore who refuses to associate with Mirrorbound in classes, or those familiar with the law might pick out a mid-ranked member of the City Guard named Godfrey Rathmore, who perhaps looks the other way when refugees are harassed. As the hours tick by, it becomes obvious that there are maybe 22 of the Rathmore family, the only ones with access to this corridor. Other voices, maybe familiar from the kidnapping, can be heard outside the main doors at times, but they never enter, and seem none the wiser as to what is actually happening. a. The Torments And what is happening? Something sinister. It's usually a different set of family members, a pair of cousins, the daughter or the son, occasionally even the matriarch and her son and daughter-in-law (who may be recognized as long-time members of Parliament). Their methods and motivations may be a bit different, but they share one thing - innate cruelty, and a hatred for those they see as a plague on Aefenglom, those harbingers of unwanted change. Sometimes they inflict pain on captives right there through the bars of the cells, with nasty spells or physical instruments, but more often, they choose a victim or two to remove from their cell, still in restraints, to take down the hall, through the heavy door at the opposite end from the entrance. The wide room at the end is a place of horrors: instruments of torture lining tables, heavy restraints, and glass jars to receive any bits or blood they might separate from the original owners, to sell on the black market. The runes on the walls and floor in this room are different as well - this is advanced, forbidden magic, practiced by the daughter Constance on brand new test subjects. When the family members have grown bored or tired themselves out, they return their current playthings to a cell - not always the same cell with the same cellmate, not always with the same restraints, but every time they ensure that it will be difficult to escape or fight back. b. The Whispers While the Rathmores do not often speak directly to captives, they speak to each other quite a bit, as do the others who occasionally pass outside the heavy door at the entrance and simply seem to serve as watchmen outside the corridor. It's easy to get snippets of conversation between the horrors. What else are you going to do, besides wait, and listen, and plot your escape? "Shame about Uncle Rodolphus. Scarred by the mist, his Black Market business raided." "None of it would have happened if they hadn't provoked Dorchacht. It was Drummond's Witch in our city who unleashed that awful gas, as retribution for what they did over there..." "...-Destabilizing a whole city like that, and there are only a hundred of them give or take. Imagine what they'll do to Aefenglom if we don't stop it." "They'll all want to leave after this, surely. We'll go for another batch in a couple of weeks, once Godfrey convinces the Guard to stop looking." "Good. Maybe Dorchacht will take them. Them and their brutal revolutionaries..." "...-Father thinks we can control them if he manages to get in touch with his contact in Dorchacht. They had that spell, you know? Like the collars, but better. Maybe then we can sell them off, make some money back to cover our losses..." "...-All this pushing for equality. The whole economy will collapse. Everyone has their place in a functioning society, right, sister?"... "...-heard from Mr. Rathmore himself they're doing magic in there. A spell to send the Mirrorbound home, and the refugees along with them." "Then why did we have to grab them like that? You'd think they'd want to leave." "The Coven wants them here, obviously. It's a power-play, there's no way they'd allow Mr. Rathmore to do this..." "...-I don't know about this, the Rathmores always seemed a little extreme-..." As a reminder: while this prompt contains a general content warning for torture, please make sure to leave decently specific content warnings in your headers for anything that may be uncomfortable for other players to stumble across. The level of torture experienced by each character is up to the individual players - please respect each other's limits!

III. The Ones Left Behind (14th - 20th) Meanwhile, out in the city, the atmosphere is a new kind of tense. The papers pick up the story pretty quickly, so before long, it seems that everyone knows about it. In the days since the fires, repairs seem to be on the backburner; the remaining refugees especially worry for their missing friends and loved ones, and the missing Mirrorbound. The graffiti stops entirely, as do nasty comments in the streets. The upper-class, when they come into contact with the remaining Mirrorbound, cannot meet their eyes, or even react with genuine sympathy, a rare few even saying in hushed murmurs that they hope they find their people. Vandalizing their property is one thing, it seems, but people simply vanishing, Bonds being smothered... that's another. Even if they don't worry for the Mirrorbound, they worry for their own safety in Aefenglom now. On the other hand, residents of the Western Residential District, primarily Monsters but including a fair few humans as well, stop by the Haven more often, bringing food and kind words, and asking after the disappearances with real concern. The City Guard is an increased presence on the streets, trying to track down witnesses who may have information, but without warrants, their hands are tied in a lot of cases. Some Mirrorbound are asked quietly by the Lead Investigator if they wouldn't mind looking into some of the sources of the fires, and trying to track down anyone who might have seen something - they can operate a little more loosely, not being bound by the same bureaucracy as the Guard. They're promised Guard and Coven cooperation and support in this. The demand for artists increases in the days after the abduction. Many of the refugees especially will seek out anyone who can draw to help them create fliers about the missing people to post around town, to raise awareness. Maybe they want to make posters of another refugee, or maybe they want posters made of particular Mirrorbound faces who helped them in the past. They're distressed, but they're pulling together as a community - and it's clear they consider all the Mirrorbound a part of it, judging from how they'll try to pull anyone in to their efforts to put the 'missing' posters up around the city. The Coven, too, is in a flurry of worry, second only to the refugees, who are missing some of their own as well. Many of the regular classes are disrupted and become impromptu Divining sessions, circles of Witches holding hands and chanting in rooms filled with incense smoke, making concentrated efforts to determine the location of their missing fellows. After all, many Mirrorbound are their classmates, and they want to see them returned safely. Anyone passing through the Coven may get pulled into one of these sessions - Witches to lend their magic to the circle, Monsters who know any of the missing to act as foci. Unfortunately, nothing concrete turns up in the fleeting visions they do get, and the backlash is immense, resulting in splitting migraines. It's magical interference for sure. Luckily, Miss Aerianna, the middle-aged Arachne caretaker to the Dreamers (who, she'll say, are currently unreachable - they're trying to suss out the missing Mirrorbound as well), is well-versed with Divination headaches, and is around distributing her supposed cure-all, which smells like swamp-water and tastes twice as bad. At least it works on the headaches. While the part of the city who wanted to see the Mirrorbound gone have quieted down some, the part of the city that welcomes them has grown louder, providing what support they can to try to find those lost souls who have vanished. The investigation briefs will be posted under location-specific headers down below! Feel free to thread underneath them with others investigating the same area, or collaborate with other teams to share information. We decided to go ahead and allow for everyone who signed up to investigate whichever area they're interested in rather than splitting characters into mod-decided teams, but we encourage working together!

Welcome to Part One of January's event, Snatched! The sign-ups thread is here - it's not too late to get involved. Only the kidnapped characters who will escape on the evening of the 20th is closed out to new sign-ups. Headers for the investigations are here. Part Two of this event will be posted on the 21st and will include the escape, rescue and bringing the perpetrators to justice.

And a note for all! If your character does anything significant during Part 1 or Part 2, we want to hear about it on the city tracker! Make sure your submissions are in by Feb. 3rd, because a special aftermath post will go up on the 4th.

Comments

[futhark]

[ The Rathmores might not do anything that would directly kill them, but they sure are making sure they won't last long around here. How long it has been? Merely a few days if they can count time right. Merely a few days to reduce all these vibrant people to husks. Some are softer than others, some are harder to break than others. None will be able to take it for much longer.

And the worst is— there is no sense to it. There is no real reason to— they're not torturing them for information (that Cú could at least understand), they're just tormenting them because they can. ]

Soren— stay still! [ It must be the damned collar, that's what electrocuted him. They won't even let him rest between the sessions, intent on causing pain and suffering. ] Try breathing slowly...

[ He puts his hand on Soren's head, gently, tenderly— there aren't many more ways he could offer comfort with touch, with how wounded and tightly bound Soren is. He's set on bringing the water bowl to him again when the door open and two men look inside. The one behind is carrying a light source, which makes their entrance only that more blinding, but Cú still manages to react when the first one gets close in few steps attempting to kick them apart ]

Get away from the dragon, you cur [ Instead of scrambling away in the face of danger Cú coils as much as he can around Soren, taking the brunt of the kick onto his back. ]

[silentsavant]

[ Just when he finds himself able to simmer down upon a gentle touch, a calm reminder to help drown out the unending sorrow, he's broken into fury again as a sick crunch follows the wallop of his sturdy leather boot against Cú's rib. Soren tears himself away from his hold only to shock himself a second time, but he ignores the high voltage searing his flesh to swing his tail the other way like a club. It bowls into his leg and causes him to trip onto his ass with a yelp of surprise, his limbs spasmodic for a few seconds as the electric current surges through his body. Soren collapses, too, and the other two Rathmores waste no more time moving out of the way in case he thrashes some more. ]

I think it's passed out! Restrain that tail of his! Better yet, chop it off.

The scales are too tough...!

Not enough to chip them off, see? [ The other one gestures toward his pockmarked scales where they'd been shaved and cut away. He helps his stunned cohort back up onto his feet. ] We've harvested enough to make a small fortune. [It's Cú he looks at next, a devious smirk crossing his face. ] This one's awfully fond of dragons. Bonded to one, in fact.

Oh?

Oh, yeah. [ His sneer gets uglier. ] Matter of fact, he knows firsthand just how easy it is to shave the scales off a nice specimen if you know what you're doing. Really got under his skin, it did.

Ha ha ha!

[ His Bonded... The conversation rattles against the confusion in Soren's skull, but the white noise clears up in time for him to absorb these last bits. He trembles there on the cool, mucky floor, reluctant to send another shock through his system but repulsed all the same by these wicked men, the depths they're willing to stoop for their own sadistic pleasures. His anger prickles through his nerves harder than the electricity. ]

[futhark]

[ It's the voice Cú recognizes first. A quick glance at the man, and even with a blurred vision he can confirm— it's the same bastard. The rage burns in him, but there is nothing he can do with this fire.

Yet. Not yet.

He coughs out blood, wondering if the rib is broken or just bruised, and looks at the men defiantly. There's something he can remind him about that meeting too. ]

How's your buddy doing? His eye, still dangling out? [ If they're here to pick up another victim for their session, he can take another round. They'll just hurt him, Soren— they will use him for parts as if he was a resource to harvest and not a person. This works, at least in that, the shoe forces Cú's head into the floor. ]

Think yourself so smart, ain'tcha? You'll sing differently when you'll part with another ink

[ If they find any left, he's not sure if there are any left. But that's on them. Unfortunately the other doesn't take the bait and instead squats next to Soren, as if inspecting his state. Without any compassion, only with wicked curiosity ]

Fond of dragons, you say? Think he's still going to be if he sees the true nature of the beast?

Hell if I know, bloody degenerates all of them [ His comrade isn't immediately sold on whatever the other is suggesting, but there is something in his tone that tells he's intrigued.

No, no, no, not again. ]

[silentsavant]

[ If only he could clamp down on his rising fury. If only he could tame the tempest within. He misses the clarity of his old mind, his human mind that could resist the tumultuous current of these terrifying instincts. Once upon a time, he could have sharpened his mind easily. That was part of who he was: a clear-headed tactician whose job it was to think his way out of trouble. But all he can focus on right now is how he loathes the men who hurt Cú. How afraid he is of what he knows they plan on doing now. Afraid of losing all his senses again to the monster inside. Wants to destroy until there's peaceful nothing and no one.

He squirms in his chains as they come near, bares his teeth as though it could scare them. His eyes flare like orbs of fire. He raises his tail again. They snicker. One casts a paralysis spell on him, and his whole weakened body goes limp.

The man preoccupied with Cú grinds the heel of his boot into the side of his skull, spits on an open wound where one of his enchantment spells had been sliced away before. The others grab a fistful of Soren's hair to jerk his head to where it is tilted just so he can watch, undoing most of his binds. ]

This one's small fry. But it's a force to be reckoned with. Very sensitive. Goes berserk at the drop of a hat.

Oh, didja hear? It transformed, even with the wards. 'Course, they've been fortified since then, but... Good lord, it was HUGE and MEAN. Just about gobbled up the metal puca. Thing was dented scrap metal by the time it got through with it, so I hear.

[ Soren grimaces. He doesn't remember that at all. ]

'Just about'? Damn. Would have been nice if it did away with the obnoxious thing. I swear, it's torturing ME. [ Soren is treated to a swift kick to the soft belly where sensitive human skin still reigns, causing him to cough and then snarl. ] This thing is so puny. Is it a kid or an adult? Hell, I can't even tell its sex just by looking at it.

Gross. [ He aims a kick at his groin, which is a little more protected by full scale coverage than his vulnerable tummy. It doesn't really hurt, but it's humiliating and twists more ire into Soren. They sneer at Cú, then. ] They've been in here for a solid hour or so. Lizardfucker over here would probably be intimate with that by now, huh?

[ They all get a hearty laugh at his expense, the cell echoing with their taunts and amplifying it. The man standing atop Cú's head releases his boot only to swing a kick at him. It sends a blow to Soren's sanity as well to have to watch, even if it's a comparatively tame beating compared to what he's seen and felt. But he can't struggle very well even when the binds are off, which is maddening in and of itself. His tormentors seem to know that in order to rile him up, not only do they need to batter him with blows, but create an environment of chaos, dole out pain to his cellmate as well. The man familiar with Cú chuckles darkly, removes one of Emiya's scales from his pocket, shows it to him, and squats down to dig it into the flesh at his neck so hard that it breaks, mimicking the way he shaved off the scales. There doesn't need to be ink there for him to take yet more of Cú's skin off. ]

That's right. What you love most is always gonna end up hurting you the most. Let this be a lesson you never forget... if you live long enough for it to matter, anyway. Wonder what they're doing to that monster of yours right now?

[futhark]

[ Death and damnation on them all— if that only was possible. They're separating them, taking away their agency— chained and helpless that's what they are but not just that. Layer by layer they've been taking their humanity away. Wounds close, skin grows back and blood can be given anew— but if they get out, can they ever retrieve what is taken away from them?

Gods had seen humans as playthings, and enemies saw each other as obstacles to be crushed. But there was always a dose of... respect.

He growls when he sees the kicks delivered to Soren among the hurting words, but the boot on his head threatens to crack his skull. And here he thought he had seen the ugly side of humanity already, and here he thought what apathy means. Being treated as a tool was almost natural, but this kind of humiliation was unthinkable of.

—— everything shall return to nothingness, scream foolishly with all your might ——

And he does scream — howls to describe it more aptly — when he realizes what exactly the man is holding, what exactly he is using to scrape his skin off. A string of curses and promises of death so ancient they could have held across the worlds, anchor themselves to the black souls present here.

It is, of course, laughed off, and the man focusing on Soren takes a fistful of his long hair— slowly, in some horrible parody of tenderness, then he yanks his head back and up. ]

Wish we got some tools, it's taking so long— maybe the lizard had grown some resistance or what. Think you could fetch some?

[ He muses as his eyes scan the features for a reaction, looking for fear or anger. Then he slams Soren's face down into the stone cobbles. ]

[silentsavant]

Ngah—!

[ The dragon's rather human cry of anguish is broken by a series of inhuman growls, crawling up and out of his throat from a place of depth that shouldn't be able to fit in such a petite body. When his eyes fling open, they're a glowing, incandescent red. His teeth are bloody and bared and sharper than before, when only his canines had been. One of their captors claps and shouts. ]

There it is! The beast!

Keep the spell going! Only release it once we're cleared.

Roger that.

[ Soren's grip on his own consciousness weakens. The last bit him he still clutches onto panics, subsumed by his draconic urge to obliterate. He doesn't want to fall, doesn't want to slip into the tenebrous abyss his own mind below. Nothing but horror awaits: for him, for their tormentors, for even Cú. Resist though he may, his control snaps. More fresh and flowing blood erupts from Cú's neck, fills Soren's nostrils and tips him over the edge. He swirls into the darkness. The vengeful dragon rears up in his stead. How dare they rub their faces in the dirt, defile their humanity, use them against one another and mock them for it?

His limbs jerk and spasm in the magical hold he's bound in. They kick him and laugh, a glint of fear coloring their vocal amusement. With a firm hand, the noble pinning Cú down saws off the rest of the portion of flesh, snickering at the sight of skin and scale in the same hand. He presents it to Cú with a contemptuous grin curling his lips. ]

Look! Together again! [ He crumples the two pieces of their bodies together in his fist and stands up as his cousins urge everyone to stand back, get out of the cell. ] Too bad your loyal monster's not here to save you from the likes of this one.

[ With that said, he backs off at last, stepping on his hand carelessly as he exits the stage for the show that is about to begin. Before the Rathmores vacated the arena, they'd decided to free up some of Cú's limbs; after all, what could he do against them in his condition, as a witch with his magic repressed? He remains tethered to the wall by an ankle. The rest of him is free to fend off the dragon... even though they know he won't stand a chance against such strength and savagery. It wouldn't be as much fun to watch otherwise.

The preparations are complete. The door creaks shut. Soren growls, snaps, roars, nothing human left in him. They free him from the magically-induced paralysis. He's flips onto hands and knees in a matter of seconds, snarling indiscriminately at Cú. ]

[futhark]

[ It all just becomes a blur. Weren't those scales precious? Didn't you bastard take them away because they were worth your weight in goal— dragon scales are an important gift if given willingly? They are said to hold mysterious powers— That's why Dragons are respected and sought after.

Yet you still, you still treat them all like— like—

The freedom of movement, Rathmores returning into the safety behind the doors it takes time to register. It's a mechanical movement to slowly drag himself off the ground, to stand-up again (because anything that happens, he will die standing. He won't fall on his knees, he won't). It's been a constant symphony of pain, but it's not his wounds that make him feel like something is piercing his heart. (It's not just the blood loss, he can tell the bloodloss)

His blurred vision sharpens when he finds Soren. Mistreated and hurt, his pride and sanity trampled. Everything that was good and beautiful taken away, one by one. Noble dragon reduced into a violent, wounded—

Worthless playthings that can be discarded, that's how they see them ]

Don't give in to this Soren— don't give them that. [ Cú extends his hand slowly, palm open to a signal of no hostility. Trying to find and speak to traces of the man he knew. ]

:')

[silentsavant]

[ His snarls soften. His mouth shrinks, covering the rows of sharpened teeth. His cellmate's familiar and mollifying voice manages to penetrate past his skull, even if he can't understand the words anymore. It stops him from flinging himself at the hand like it's a provocation rather than a sign to heel.

A little piece of Soren surfaces from the deep. A certain cognizant shine bounces off his bright red eyes. Sorrow? Regret? If things had been different, perhaps Cú could have saved him from himself. The olive branch he offers him might have been enough to gradually pull him out of the deep trench, keep him from drifting down the treacherous rush toward complete madness if they could keep proceeding that way alone. But a rock collides with the side of his head, hurled by one of their captors.

It's a declaration of war.

And nobody is on his side. They're all against him. All of them.

The dragon lunges to barrel Cú into the wall, inflamed with the urge to rip senselessly into him, no holds barred. ]

;;;

[futhark]

[ The innate self-preservation instinct, one that dragged him out of so many dangers fires off— surviving is something he's good at (if you ignore the "died young" part) even with reflexes dulled, body being one giant open-wound the adrenaline kicks in so strongly it doesn't matter. Miraculously, Cú evades that lunge. Not perfectly, it's a stumble out of the way in the last moment, and a stray hit from the tail sends him on the ground. If not for the chain that restricts the area he can move in, he'd probably flew and roll much further.

Another reflex is to fire off the enchantments but— none of the conduits is located on his body any longer. The spells seeped deeper than just the surface level of the ink, a residue of them left in his body. It feels as if circuits going haywire, but there is— an effect, an unexpected strengthening among the pain.

Absolutely unreliable, dangerous to his magic in the long run; but that would matter only if they survive long enough to get out of here. Right now, surviving these seconds sounds like the biggest challenge. Just standing up again onto his feet is.

Because after the failed lunge, there will be another attack, and there is nowhere to run or strategically retreat to. ]

You really... don't have to do this— do you remember? [ Dorchacht of all places, the fear of losing himself to the beasthood. That fear now a terrible reality, but— ] You're still there somewhere, Soren

[silentsavant]

[ The dragon collides with the wall head-first. He falls to his haunches stunned for a handful of seconds before he's back to hunting again, jerking his head in the direction of his victim with flashing eyes devoid of whites. Though he may still be in there somewhere, he's plunged deep into the recesses of his subconscious: unable to respond, unable to curb the senseless drive to fight. ]

It's no good! You can't talk sense into a bloodthirsty monster!

[ He swings his tail at his legs to bowl him over and leaps whether he was successful or not so that he can whale on him with a flurry of fists and claws and teeth, wings trying in vain to spread out in spite of being bolted together in various spots at the membrane. It should hurt, but Soren doesn't feel it anymore. ]

You've gotta beat sense into 'em! It's the only way!

[futhark]

[ If he keeps attempting to spread them— they'll tear. What if they tear beyond repair? It's telling how deep the state of despair Soren must be, if not even self-preservation can't bring him back.

The tail swing he sees, and tries to dodge— keyword is "try". Not enough strength to properly jump above it. The hit staggers Cú and he falls on the ground. Dragon full of claws and teeth descends next. Blood spills among the slashes as he uses his arms to protect his vitals from Soren's onslaught. One or twice, he manages to almost— almost grab his hands? his shoulders? anything to stop him. The pain is blinding, even if he manages to activate the remnants of the enchantment that could adjust the response of pain receptors.

In one brief flash that strengthens him momentarily he manages to grab Soren's wrists— painting them with his own blood, and that gives a small opening. There is only one way he can attack now—

Putting all strength he can muster he attempts hits Soren with his forehead— aiming at Soren's forehead too (who knows, maybe he'll even knock them both out, killing any fun these despicable men could have with their fight), though he will take any hit he can land, nose or jaw is good too for stun factor. If he can ]

[silentsavant]

[ Pale flesh tones get consumed by that sinister color, his fresh flowing blood erupting into the dragon's nostrils as he rakes and digs and plunges. Cú's forearm gets shredded; Soren manages to split through the wounds on his shoulder; he tears senselessly anywhere he can slice his claws through: his side, his chest.... Due to the sheer force of even an unshifted dragon, this is nothing like being ripped apart by a rabid hound: each gash can cut down to muscle.

It really can't be said that a single thought runs through his brain. He'll crush him; he'll crush them; he'll destroy them all until the urge to topple everyone in his path is naturally sated by a lack of anyone left to fight.

Just as he tries to crush his neck in his bare, sharp grip, strong hands clasp his finned wrists. And in a flash, it's like thunder collides with his skull. Cú smashes right against his forehead, right on the mark, right upon the weak spot fabled of dragons. Even the monster's mind goes blank as Soren ragdolls atop him, collapsing into a unconscious heap where he is.

A wave of disappointment crashes into them from the audience, too. That's it? Over already? ]

[futhark]

[ For a moment a thought hits him— is this how they're going out this time? As a spectacle for their enemies? At least they didn't give them a prolonged show, there is a defiance in that.

The hit feels like it rattled his brain, and perhaps the darkness that envelops them is the most merciful thing that happened today. With it, the wounds, the pain, the loss of control and humanity trampled— it all just melts away in a lack of presence, lack of being.

They will wake-up eventually. Patched and healed just enough to keep them alive— but that will happen later. ]