The Ψiioniic / The Helmsman (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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thearena2015-05-31 03:40 am
biiowiired) wrote in thearena2015-05-31 03:40 am
Entry tags:
Reflex in the sky
Who| The Ψiioniic &: Sam Wilson, Samwise Gamgee, Rose Lalonde, Venus Dee Milo.
What| Blindly taking refuge
Where| The Catacombs
When| May 25 - Jun 02
Warnings/Notes| language and lisping always
He woke struggling in the dirt, bruised and burned and completely surprised to be alive. He'd been flying low when something hit him, like a power surge or accident with the mind honey. He thought he was literally toast when light filled his vision and the skin around his eyes burned. His optic blast had been completely involuntary, necessary to channel off whatever energy that had hit him, and that frightened him. He'd also lost consciousness immediately while flying, also frightening. Luckily, he had been zooming below the height of the village buildings, hoping they'd provide cover from any projectile weapons. He supposed flying out of them into the open fields did him in, but he'd had no choice in the chaos of the Cornucopia.
It was dark. Where the hell were the stars? Did the Gamemakers forget to turn them on, or did they just not bother? Screams in the distance told him there was another big fight erupting. Or the same one? He'd lost time between rocketing off from the Cornucopia and here, but he couldn't tell if it was minutes or hours. He'd assumed it was hours, because he was standing and wading through pitch black velvet unlike any dark season, a tattered monk trying to look for his missing shoe, and why weren't his eyes adjusting....
Oh. Shit.
He could feel the silvery warmth of what he recognized as the Earth's sun. It came from one direction more than any other. He turned to it, his only clue. His eyes were no longer bright red and blue, but completely black staring orbs. His vessels were burned in yellow capillary fractals around them. He tried to remember where he was. Lost time was less an issue so much as the need to get away from the sounds of fighting. He didn't chance flying again. It could have been lightning, but he'd been too low for that....
A: Sam Wilson
He could hear the wind whistling ominously in the cracks of a large door. He remembered the funny black building on the long path. He'd been flying somewhat in that direction and must have fallen nearby. Though he longed to put out tendrils of psi to feel his way there, he was afraid the light would draw enemies. He crawled instead, tripping on his robe in a fashion entirely unbefitting Alternia's most powerful psionic mage. His hands finally pawed at the door. He ripped it open and stumbled through.
His efforts to enter stealthily were in vain. In his haste to find a place to hide, he tripped and fell into nothingness. Then a stone corner jabbed against his body, and another, and he realized with a sinking feeling of dread and irritation that he was tumbling down a flight of stairs. Before he could summon his psi and stop, he touched down on the first landing. Horns stinging from bumps, he felt for the next step with his toes. He was still scared of the other Tributes entering and seeing his light-show. Troll instinct told him to get out of the open, out of the possible light, and get down into something like a cave.
B: Samwise Gamgee & (later) Rose Lalonde
The wall's recesses were low enough for him to feel with his hands. He jumped when he brushed the long, knobbed forms of bones. He reassured himself that the bodies were long rotted away, with no chance for infection or undead tendencies. Trolls weren't in the habit of venerating dead bodies, so this sort of place was foreign to him. Still, trolls had their own ghost stories, and someone put bones here for a purpose, probably to scare. A Tribute probably wouldn't want to look at them, would pass them quickly by....
He was slim enough to tuck himself behind one of skeletons, borrowing rags and dust to cover his robes and orange horns. He tried to imagine what he looked like sharing a bed with a skeleton. It wasn't a picture he wanted to dwell on, but death had touched his life from hatching, from his first vision of doom to his first kill. If these bones were indeed real, then it was about time the dead did him a favor.
He was nodding off to sleep when he heard someone open the door at the top of the stairs. He remained still, controlling his breaths even though his bloodpusher was hammering in his chest. It was inevitable that someone would want to explore this odd little building and the catacombs under it. He'd just have to lie low behind his camouflage and wait for them to leave. And if they stayed.... well, there was either an alliance or an optic blast to be had.
Completely independent to the noises on the stairs, he heard someone screech loud and hard enough to echo through the catacombs. Psii tried not to jump, but his twitch dislodged a few bones from his osseous companion. Ribs clattered to the floor. Damn ghosts at it again. He never liked them in his head, and he certainly didn't like them now. His prophetic voices had been their usual clamorous din from the start, but (strangely) none of them were distinct enough to tell him whether the ghosts he heard now were real. He remained in his alcove, hoping his cover wasn't broken.
What| Blindly taking refuge
Where| The Catacombs
When| May 25 - Jun 02
Warnings/Notes| language and lisping always
He woke struggling in the dirt, bruised and burned and completely surprised to be alive. He'd been flying low when something hit him, like a power surge or accident with the mind honey. He thought he was literally toast when light filled his vision and the skin around his eyes burned. His optic blast had been completely involuntary, necessary to channel off whatever energy that had hit him, and that frightened him. He'd also lost consciousness immediately while flying, also frightening. Luckily, he had been zooming below the height of the village buildings, hoping they'd provide cover from any projectile weapons. He supposed flying out of them into the open fields did him in, but he'd had no choice in the chaos of the Cornucopia.
It was dark. Where the hell were the stars? Did the Gamemakers forget to turn them on, or did they just not bother? Screams in the distance told him there was another big fight erupting. Or the same one? He'd lost time between rocketing off from the Cornucopia and here, but he couldn't tell if it was minutes or hours. He'd assumed it was hours, because he was standing and wading through pitch black velvet unlike any dark season, a tattered monk trying to look for his missing shoe, and why weren't his eyes adjusting....
Oh. Shit.
He could feel the silvery warmth of what he recognized as the Earth's sun. It came from one direction more than any other. He turned to it, his only clue. His eyes were no longer bright red and blue, but completely black staring orbs. His vessels were burned in yellow capillary fractals around them. He tried to remember where he was. Lost time was less an issue so much as the need to get away from the sounds of fighting. He didn't chance flying again. It could have been lightning, but he'd been too low for that....
A: Sam Wilson
He could hear the wind whistling ominously in the cracks of a large door. He remembered the funny black building on the long path. He'd been flying somewhat in that direction and must have fallen nearby. Though he longed to put out tendrils of psi to feel his way there, he was afraid the light would draw enemies. He crawled instead, tripping on his robe in a fashion entirely unbefitting Alternia's most powerful psionic mage. His hands finally pawed at the door. He ripped it open and stumbled through.
His efforts to enter stealthily were in vain. In his haste to find a place to hide, he tripped and fell into nothingness. Then a stone corner jabbed against his body, and another, and he realized with a sinking feeling of dread and irritation that he was tumbling down a flight of stairs. Before he could summon his psi and stop, he touched down on the first landing. Horns stinging from bumps, he felt for the next step with his toes. He was still scared of the other Tributes entering and seeing his light-show. Troll instinct told him to get out of the open, out of the possible light, and get down into something like a cave.
B: Samwise Gamgee & (later) Rose Lalonde
The wall's recesses were low enough for him to feel with his hands. He jumped when he brushed the long, knobbed forms of bones. He reassured himself that the bodies were long rotted away, with no chance for infection or undead tendencies. Trolls weren't in the habit of venerating dead bodies, so this sort of place was foreign to him. Still, trolls had their own ghost stories, and someone put bones here for a purpose, probably to scare. A Tribute probably wouldn't want to look at them, would pass them quickly by....
He was slim enough to tuck himself behind one of skeletons, borrowing rags and dust to cover his robes and orange horns. He tried to imagine what he looked like sharing a bed with a skeleton. It wasn't a picture he wanted to dwell on, but death had touched his life from hatching, from his first vision of doom to his first kill. If these bones were indeed real, then it was about time the dead did him a favor.
He was nodding off to sleep when he heard someone open the door at the top of the stairs. He remained still, controlling his breaths even though his bloodpusher was hammering in his chest. It was inevitable that someone would want to explore this odd little building and the catacombs under it. He'd just have to lie low behind his camouflage and wait for them to leave. And if they stayed.... well, there was either an alliance or an optic blast to be had.
Completely independent to the noises on the stairs, he heard someone screech loud and hard enough to echo through the catacombs. Psii tried not to jump, but his twitch dislodged a few bones from his osseous companion. Ribs clattered to the floor. Damn ghosts at it again. He never liked them in his head, and he certainly didn't like them now. His prophetic voices had been their usual clamorous din from the start, but (strangely) none of them were distinct enough to tell him whether the ghosts he heard now were real. He remained in his alcove, hoping his cover wasn't broken.
no subject
That's why, really, she's felt so tempted to sneak off now and then. It's just that there's so many chance to find things out! There was the castle she found earlier, finally hitting it the night of her first day instead of the immediate investigation she'd wanted, and it proved productive when she not only met a real, live wizard - the Merlyn of legend! - but also gained a pair of knitting needles. She couldn't have hoped for better; in fact, she didn't expect that much.
Now, though, it's the ossuary that's drawn her. It seems more dangerous for the dark and the bones, but Rose has never taken grim as the stay away sign so many do. Still, she keeps her needles out as she ventures down the steps.
Of course, it can't be as simple as that. A screech comes from somewhere further in, lighting up her nerves, and a secondary clatter comes from down nearby. She has two choices: leave, or investigate? She's honestly not eager to find what caused the distant screech, but a part of her protests soundly at the idea of not looking around even a little.
So marshaling herself, she strides down the stairs and around to where she heard the clatter. "Show yourself."
It might sound more threatening from anyone but a young teenager in a wizard robe, or even if she had something different than knitting needles to be armed with, but she's confident enough she can defend herself if she has to.
She just hopes it doesn't come to that.
no subject
She did indeed sound more threatening that she looked, enough to fool a blind man—or a blind troll. The person was not heavy-set, by the sound of her steps, but Psii still believed he was facing a fearless and fully-grown enemy. He was struck with a familiar urge to know whether he would die in the near future. But his visions would not come unless he concentrated....
Psii's second sight was his only sight now. A young human female with short yellow hair and wizard's garb was flying and hurling blast after purple-pink blast at the castle with her magic.... knitting needles? Psii didn't even know wand-like apparatus was a thing here. She also decimated whatever creatures came her way. She yelled in her fury, and he recognized her voice as the one he was hearing now in the present. A bolt of light from the sky, and she fell to her death.
The vision ended, and he turned his attention to the present. She would not leave his spot, so there was nothing for it. He kicked aside his osseous camouflage and dropped to the ground, rolling to a crouch some feet away. He held his hands up, palms forward. The light of his perpetual flame chased the darkness, but he was as blind as ever. He could feel the undercurrent of his power, but he kept his optic blasts reined in, for now. He turned his black eyes in the vague direction of Rose's voice.
"Before you dethide to kill me, let me tell you your future."
That was when the bats swooped down with a hundred unholy screeches.
no subject
A story of her future. Dark eyes, future sight: a blind seer. Perhaps it was only fate that they should meet.
Then came the bats, not the first she'd encountered them, and so not the first she'd figured how to deal with them. With needles swapped to one hand, the other grabbed for his and pulled. "Come on," she snapped, and set to running further into the tunnels. Her needles stabbed up and ahead, scoring wings or piercing small bodies that ducked too low in aiming for the taller troll. She didn't like having to kill things, but it was better than dying early.
no subject
"God they're annoying, you'd think they'd thtay away permanently inthtead of learning the hard way. Every time thith happenth, I eat a little better."
His voice echoed just a little, letting him know that this was one of the larger chambers. The catacombs were quiet except for a few dying bat squeaks. He shook off Rose's hand, still too suspicious of her to stay close for long. He'd rather hear her coming at him this time, especially in a room he hadn't yet mapped out with his hands. He backed a few steps, and several hard, rounded shapes clinked against his back. He put a hand out and felt behind him. His fingers curled into the eye sockets of a skull.
"Oh joy. Hive decorating."
no subject
Letting his arm go freely, Rose instead stepped aside and took to wiping her needles clean against her sleeves. It worked a little less well each time, but the marks at least made warning to tributes who spotted her and bought her a little extra safety. Not yet had she been given need to turn them on a person, and she hoped it would stay that way.
She didn't worry as he moved around. Blind or not, he likely could have killed her by now if he'd intended to, either by throwing her to those same bats or goring her in the back with his horns as they fled. As neither had happened, and with the promise of a prediction still to be told, what worry she might have had easily melted out.
Still, the noise did draw her attention.
"More bones?" It was a bit hard to see in the dark; most of the illumination came from the flame above his head. She lacked one herself, her powers being of the inconstant variety, and setting her wands to glowing wouldn't have been worth another influx of vermin.
But what was that beside him? He looked like he had a number of horns, but had she miscounted at her earlier glance? No... They lay behind, and as she approached she saw more clearly: "Your skull. There's a skull behind you. Your horns--"