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 Posted: Sat Jul 21, 2012 9:21 pm
It wouldn't have been far-fetched to guess that the lone hunter might have called or brought back-up. As the events usually turned out like so, Aisa's human form disappeared amongst the sudden whirlwinds of sand, disrupted and driven by Eris's wings. As she stepped from amongst the sand, the human voice drew her to him, in the middle of all the snapping and cracks of monotonous grains. Millions of grains, all at once, was like a low buzzing in Aisa's ears.
"Being here was a very unfortunate step."
The low crisp voice, with Aisa's nonchalant expression ..
It was simply a trainee.
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Posted: Sat Jul 21, 2012 9:26 pm
"Bad luck on my part," Jordan agreed, keeping his hands from curling into fists with an effort. Every line of his body was tense.
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Posted: Sat Jul 21, 2012 9:30 pm
"Now, my protectors." Medea's voice ran clear through the landscape, the Heirs around her her security. "That is no way to treat a guest." The tone was not mocking, nor was it sarcastic, simply pleased. "This is not a coincidence, young Hunter, all paths lead to the same end. I beseech you now, will you not walk with us, as the night is still young?"
She beckoned him to come closer.
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Posted: Sat Jul 21, 2012 9:36 pm
Jordan blinked, giving Medea a sharp, thoughtful look. Her voice was familiar, and that phrase sounded familiar, but why? He couldn't place it.
His choices were very, very limited. He glanced at Eris and Invictus, at the other two Horsemen who he didn't know, and moved closer at Medea's command. "I guess I will," he said.
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Interesting Conversationalist
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Posted: Sat Jul 21, 2012 9:56 pm
Eris landed silently in the sand behind Jordan, large, powerful wings folding close to her back with an almost audible snap. Although Medea had announced him as a guest, the smirk she was giving Jordan seemed less than hospitable, voluptuous lips pulled back over surprisingly sharp canine teeth. It was not a friendly sort of smile. Whether she remembered Jordan or not was debatable; Eris had a very short memory span for hunters, especially trainees, their lifespan appearing so short and their bodies seeming so fragile to the horsemen. Perhaps that was better for him. Things didn't often turn out well for the ones the Protectors remembered. Even ones she had seemed to amuse her, like Dakota.
Waiting until the sunset-haired hunter started towards Medea, War's Protector followed just behind him, flanking him to his side. Not that there was any chance that he might escape. In fact, it was more for her benefit, a sadistic pleasure that she indulged; there was something inherently satisfying in it, the thought of snapping at his heels bringing a slight glimmer of glee to her molten amber eyes.
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Posted: Sat Jul 21, 2012 10:10 pm
"Come my protectors, you have done well, let the five - no, six - of us take this path forward." Medea walked beside the trainee, perhaps instilling her will through her sheer presence alone: a dark, liquid sort of Fear, thick and cloistering. The darkness of the maw, the tunnel below did not help, punctuated occasionally only by a small flicker of light.
The walk was long, treacherous and silent, though each Horsemen had their own unique aura, from the way they walked to the way the held themselves, moved forward, looked around, bits and pieces from simply watching and listening. There was something ancient about them all, as old as the crude, dug-out tunnel, as foreign as when the Hunters back then in the Four Clans mission had seen the five islands for the first and last time. Unlike the students, these horsemen threatened, ebbed, overflowered with Fear.
At the very last step, after what seemed forever, Medea broke her pace, moving forwards quickly - raising one arm forward -
- As two Famine Clan members, both dressed simply, simple bone-and-straw ensembles greeted the Head Priestess. They talked in a language foreign to the Sun Hunter, swift and simple phrases exchanged, before Medea held a hand out to Jordan. "Come, little Hunter. The clan Sage of this Lair would like to meet you."
Said sage took a step forward as well, an aging figure of a horsemen - though for creatures who could have immortality why they would choose this form was another question entirely. Said figure raised both bony hands palm-up into claws, drawing yellowed teeth into a jagged smile. "I appreciate the gift, Head Priestess." They spoke in plain words purposely for Jordan to hear, each syllable thickly enunciated. "He is as much a captive of ours as he is yours. Bloodshed will not bring our own young back, but we can learn from them ah.... lessons." They waved a hand towards one of the Colony Soldiers standing nearby. "Prepare a nice room for our guest, an extended visit, this one. It will be nice to rejoin the remains of the Four Clans again, and the Heirs - so young, so beautiful and powerful. It is an honour to have you, let my disciples show you a full tour of the place."
One of the Famine alchemists nodded, beckoning to the four Heirs as she walked along the narrow corridor of the main compound at least, a circular Colosseum-like structure with thousands of honey-comb like openings. Though the tour guide did not speak a word, she did not have to: the setting itself was more than enough to elaborate the power and capacity of this Lair. It was larger than the miserable reserve they had been given by Halloween by far.
For Jordan to say another word, two Famine soldiers clamped each arm and tied a crude string over each wrist before intertwining them together in a figure-eight. Medea and the Famine Sage continued to exchange words in their native tongue as the Sun trainee was taken away.
The walk continued downwards, through a series of spiraling corridors, all empty, until they reached a damp area, the bottom half-covered in mildew and scum. One of the Famine colony soldiers smiled as he shoved Jordan inside, splashing dark water over the fallen trainee. "Leaks from Halloween, it happens time to time." They took a second as well to point to the intricate series of glyphs, circles, shapes, runes perhaps, scrawled over the ceiling, all glowing a soft yellow. "It's been a while since we have had a visitor like your kind, but this room is well secured. Your weapons don't work here, and you can yell all you want. Maybe someone will fetch you later. Maybe."
The grungy bars creaked closed behind the trainee.
Prolixity - Time seems to go by slowly, painfully slow. It only takes the first few moments to realize that weapons cannot be summoned, the rest simply a contest battling both a strange wave of tiredness and discomfort. It feels like something, someone is watching Jordan, but it's hard to tell what and why exactly. Everything else is still, except for the occasional drip-drip of water pouring into the cell. Heirs - You walk around the compound, quietly and finally return. Medea looks at you expectantly, as if expecting your words or advice about the Lair.
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Posted: Sat Jul 21, 2012 10:32 pm
Jordan stayed silent on the walk, his neck and spine prickling with uneasy chills. What were they intending to do with him? The Horsemen's auras were almost tangible, dark and electric, Fear powerful enough to make Ferros grumble with yearning hunger, though the weapon knew as well as Jordan did that they couldn't attack. Jordan paid careful attention to the route and the surroundings, trying even through the sour prickle of nervous apprehension to remember the route, to note details and make observations.
The sage seemed all too happy to recieve a guest, or a present. What the Famine sage said made him grit his teeth and bite his tongue, swallowing back a retort that might well change their mind about how long this "visit" was going to last. As long as he was still alive, there was a chance, however slim, of escape or rescue, and he was currently inside an active lair. If it was possible for him to survive and return, he needed to do so, and to return with as much information as he could gather while he was here.
The paths were twisty and confusing, and by the time they reached the dank, dark cell, Jordan was struggling to keep his mental map in some kind of clear order. He kept his mouth shut and his expression blank as the soldier spoke, watching until the horsemen were out of sight. Then he sagged back against one wall and raised his bound hands to his mouth to start working the strings loose.
He couldn't summon, he was trapped, the cell was disgusting and dark and uncomfortable, and he was pretty sure he was being watched. But he was still alive, and that was the first step towards getting out of this. And he hadn't seen any of them pick up his phone.
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Posted: Sat Jul 21, 2012 10:50 pm
Aisa's pleasure could not be decreed by words, as her hands wrapped around her own waist. Her expression was that of a wild recklessness, rarely seen before Aisa came into the position of politics, when Death requested she do as at the trials. She simply radiated pure ectasy, her hands running along the well-carved walls of the lair.
Delicious sounds arose from the fiber of her being, at the sight of something so nostalgic, even though it was only a short time since the clans fell. It felt like eternities.
"Tonight." She said, in promise, to the lair. Although who knew what Aisa actually wanted to do, was a mysterious thing entirely.
"Our clan will never truly fall, it'll simply rise from the ashes over and over."
A whisper, a darkening of her expression as she was reminded, by her own words, what the unsavory doctor had said before his execution of the four clans. She hadn't marked his arrogant words at the time, as a foreshadowed warning but.. She would return them in kind, someday.
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Posted: Sat Jul 21, 2012 11:03 pm
Perhaps the only thing confusing to keep track of was essentially time. It was hard to say exactly how much time passed. Mere seconds perhaps, or even hours. With the strange, languid atmosphere around him, maybe even days. Everything was cold and hot at once, and dark, stifling, to the point of fever, body weak, chill, and then shivering still, unable to move or think properly, almost similar to when he had succumbed to the flu after the strange minipet incident. The only saving grace was really, that Jordan could still talk to Ferros.
When the door finally clanked open, it seemed almost half-lucid, the shape barely distinguishable from the dark, blotted cell around him. There was a strange sound, of water dribbling steadily, being wrung from a towel perhaps, and then the feeling of something cool dabbing his forehead.
"Ah, little Hunter," A voice, Medea's, "How unfortunate that you were caught in this spider's nest. You must have hopes, I am sure, dreams of being rescued. A strong spirit is good, it will entertain our guests longer."
There was something else however, in the smell of the towel that Medea held. Something sweet, sickly, a strange perfume - no incense perhaps - wildflowers and-
- The room began to blur, just slightly, the horseman's voice loud now, echoing, booming. Her teeth seemed too white as she leaned in close, the jangle of her jewelry painful, even the barest sensation of the towel pressing against his forehead jarring and sharp, as if the towel was made of a thousand fragments of jagged glass.
"A strong spirit means a longer eternity." Medea's voice shook, broke off into a thousand disjointed chords that shrieked and continued to ring. "It had been a while since they have seen a Hunter suffer. It has been a while since they have had a Hunter's Fear." Something sharp, sudden, suddenly pierced his chest - blood curling downwards, trickling slowly, he choked - pain - warmth - delirium - walls shaking - pain - someone yelling at him in the distance - this was not real - pain - no this wasn't- someone was screaming-
- Agony.
Prolixity WELCOME TO HELL: - Medea's ability of illusion is also extremely dangerous: the ability to shatter the mind completely and entirely while under her spell. Somewhere in there Jordan is alive, and to an extent, Ferros, but all he sees now, all he lives now, is every single doubt, moment of worry, regret, all magnified a hundredfold. Betrayal. Hesitation. Doubt. Torture. The pain is only as thick as his own imagination folding in to the illusion. Perhaps he screamed, perhaps his physical body is somewhere gasping for breath, somewhere there are horsemen feasting on his fear - but all he can hear, sense, feel, think is the slow torment of the illusion. Everything else no longer matters. - FERROS: All weapons have the ability to buffer pain, but only for short bursts at a time. Doing so will weaken the weapon as well. Ferros is Jordan's only link to sanity, but how long can he shield the other for what seems like forever?
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Posted: Fri Aug 10, 2012 1:21 am
Sick, exhausted, unable to concentrate. What was this place doing to him? Jordan had at some point slid down the wall to sit on the floor, occasionally digging his nails into his palms in an attempt to keep himself from zoning out. Still, he couldn't tell how much time had passed, and he was having trouble remembering why that was important.
Stay awake, Ferros said, low and urgent.
I'm tired, Ferros.
Stay awake.
I'm trying.
Time passed, some amount of time that they couldn't track. Eventually, the door opened with a heavy, distant clank; Jordan knew he should be on his feet now, assessing any possibility of escape, but his body felt heavy and sore and slow, and it was all he could do to haul himself up from the slump he'd been sitting in.
Medea's voice sounded hollow, as though she spoke from somewhere very far away, tinny and muffled in the way that everything had sounded once before when he'd taken a trip with a bad cold and the cabin pressure of the airplane had pressed in and in and in, closing him away from his sense of hearing. The cool cloth on his forehead felt good, briefly, before the smell of incense reached him, bad, that was bad, and he didn't know why, and every touch hurt, every sound like needles in his eardrums -
Jordan, she's done something to us!
Jordan was somewhere else.
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Posted: Sat Aug 11, 2012 8:34 am
- briefly, for a moment, grateful that Mom was dead, because hospitals were expensive, because there would be no more endless waits in white rooms that smelled of disinfectant and despair, because she'd hurt so much; then a crashing wave of shame, sick guilt that he could feel that at all -  - hand over his own heart, late at night, feeling its steady beat, resenting that it had had to be Dad's heart and not his own, horribly and terribly angry that Dad had died while he was gone, at school, enjoying his day, and then a phone call had broken everything to - - exhaustion, loneliness, a tight curled ball of tension in his chest that never let go, never, because now he was the man of the house, Nana had said and he needed to be strong but he wasn't, he wasn't, he was alone, so alone - - pride, pride in what he had, who he had, pride was a sin and he owned nothing and nobody - - pride that he had been given that trust, given without, perhaps, earning it - - nothing, he had nothing, even Ferros had chosen him, he had had no choice, never any choice, locked into - - he couldn't save them all. He couldn't save anyone -
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Posted: Tue Aug 14, 2012 12:58 pm
He couldn't reach Jordan. What the priestess had done had locked Jordan into himself, into an endless loop of memory fragments, the edged and hurting things that his human had done and not done, all of them familiar, all of them worse for the familiarity.
He could block some of the worst of the hurt. How long? As long as he could. Till he dissipated. Ferros hissed a long note of distress, and wished, for once, that he had his old body, that he could curl around his Hunter and keep him safe from all harm.
He couldn't keep the insect from burrowing, eating, insinuating itself. The runes glowed, malignant, locking him into a prison defined by the shape of the ring that was himself.
What good was he?
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Posted: Tue Aug 14, 2012 1:02 pm
The chill cut through his clothes effortlessly; he scrabbled desperately at the ice, grabbing for traction that simply wasn't there to counteract the drag of the whiplike tentacle wrapped around his ankle. He couldn't spare the breath to shout. No help was coming. They looked at him, one by one, meeting his eyes and turning away. Not worth the risk, not worth rescuing. The tentacle drew him inexorably down, and when his hands slipped again, he fell easily. The icy water knocked the breath from him with the shock of sheer, numbing cold -
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Posted: Tue Aug 14, 2012 1:08 pm
Something spread itself across the windshield, its leathery surface blocking all view of the road ahead. Andy yelled and twisted the wheel; Jordan felt the tires slip and skid, the car fishtail wildly, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from the distorted, leering face that smiled at them through the glass. He felt the car jolt off pavement on the left side and onto the gravel shoulder, and even as the thing on the windshield peeled away laughing, he knew what they'd see. The car hurtled towards the bridge's support, too fast to correct its course, and he was frozen, unable to move, correct their course, stop what was about to happen, helpless - - metal crumpled with a screech, the airbags deployed and blinded them both, then began to deflate - - as the car slid, tilted, skidded, flipped - - Jordan closed his eyes as they spun towards the bridge piling, unable to look at his brother's face in these last moments before the driver's side of the car buckled in entirely -
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Posted: Fri Aug 17, 2012 4:55 am
Exhaustion, deep and dragging; Ferros wasn't hungry, for once, but he was tired. He would have preferred the familiar nagging gnawing of the hunger that chased him though the days and nights.
How much longer? Too long. The nightmares were edging into real pain, no less terrible for being inflicted from within.
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