middleofsomewhere | Fissures of Time: Ongoing

Fissures of Time: Ongoing

FISSURES OF TIME: ONGOING

... POI 10-12

FOR SOME, THE MISSION HAS BEEN MORE MENTALLY EXHAUSTING THAN PHYSICALLY. Distortions sprout around the domain without rhyme or reason, and the camps must be moved every new day to meet them, as well as stopping a distortion from deciding to form under them from their presence.

While there's bare-bones vegetation, at least they have their own resources to help one another, as well as what can be retrieved from the Ministry base during return trips to take misplaced civilians to safety. It's straight-forward so far...

...but that wouldn't be standard for the Voidtreckers, and some in their ranks don't want straight-forward. Starting during the early hours of Poi 10, there will be occasional rumblings throughout the land. They last for a few seconds and then stop, seemingly for hours; but then they return, and as the days go on, so do the tremors increase.

It seems the distortions too have become affected...

THE UNQUIET CITY. (CW: People unable to die/rising from the dead, body horror)

A city of rubble and ruin stretches far out around them, where once there were hills and vegetation. Much of the rubble is still smoking as fires smoulder. The fighting isn't over, heard before it's seen.

It must be connected to the same skirmishes seen in other distortions, and so most of you are prepared to meet warriors on foot and mount. But what awaits isn't only the horror of bloodshed. No: the reason that the fighting still continues even as the city lies in ruin is because fighters fall and rise again, as if death were nothing but a short rest.

Puncture marks litter skin and armour, holes from weaponry and blessed-magic visible in torsos, even the spaces of where portions of one's skull and brain should be.

Yet they cannot stop fighting. They cannot fall to the ground, rest. Whatever drove them to fight this war still inspires them to continue, screaming as much in pain as in some sort of twisted ecstasy. Perhaps they are too shocked to do anything else. A city locked in eternal war, distorted in time, doomed to repeat itself.

It's hard to set the equalisers here. Not much is stable and fights are likely to break out wherever there are people. The people of this city have their factions, but they will not hesitate to band together to fight intruders.

EYE OF THE STORM.

They might feel this distortion before they enter it. A spine-chilling thrill, the feeling one might get at the edge of a storm.

—For a storm it is. The moment they enter it their vision will be obstructed, winds howl around them and rain lashes down furiously making a swamp of the ground below them. It's freezing cold and as they walk they will feel something in the storm. Almost as if there are icy hands, reaching out to grab at them, to pull them further into the worst of the weather.

It's hard to know where to place the equalisers, hard to see where the edges of this distortion are. Easier, not by much, to move further in, to find the epicentre and try and take it down from there.

It's a treacherous journey, but the centre truly is calm, water frozen like crystals. Yet temperatures are dangerously low, so it's in everyone's best interests to set the equalisers quick and get out.

MEAN AND GREEN. As the rumbling continues, there comes a strange and worrying distortion. Worrying, as this distortion can be seen from the outside. A hazy blur that seems to move across the countryside, along the left side of the camp you're stationed at. It gets dangerously close at times, and when it does...

Green tendrils of plant life burst out, entangling people to pull them into the distortion. Or chains of flowers spread from the distortion out across the countryside. Beautiful and colourful in the otherwise sparse environment, but those flowers work as anchors, spreading the distortion, expanding it.

To get rid of it they will need to enter, and inside is a thick jungle of vines and bright colourful flowers awaiting them. The foliage is thick and the air musky and sweet. It's easy to get separated, and getting lost is only a matter of getting turned around. The leaves are sticky and vines move seemingly on their own, curling around unsuspecting limbs, trying to trap people in this colourful paradise forever.

And up in the sky above, a woman's laughter can be heard, the heat of the sun bearing down that becomes uncomfortable quick. But don't look up - you may find a large yellow eye - yellow iris, yellow pupil, golden yellow everything - peering back at you, and find yourself being pulled in by the very ground itself by a powerful force.

NO SANCTUARY. Protecting the camps hasn't been difficult, despite it being a Purple task. Other than rowdy refugees breaking out into fights, little else has appeared to disturb them.

'Eiiiiliiifii.... Siiiiliiifiii...
Merios? Herios?
Don't hide... don't hide...
Everything will be so perfect soon...'

People are woken abruptly in the early hours of Poi 11. If by some special sense, or by a grab at their throat, by a body falling on top of where they sleep, someone else stopping the refugee who was about to take a knife to them.

The refugees have become uncontrollable, raving about wanting 'their Gods back'. The ground rumbles as the woman's voice from the hazy jungle - ethereal, so divine - speaks from below. Grass rises and the sky above burns with a brightness like an approaching sun.

Setting an equaliser will calm the refugees, but only those in the camps. Starting from lunchtime, more warriors and civilians will be found appearing from the distance and from thin air, seemingly knowing where to find the Voidtreckers' camps - and after some very specific people.

Those with divinity, control over weather, nature, and death will be especially targeted, along with anyone who received blessings from the Gods.

OOC NOTES

OOC post. Ask questions here. Let us know about shenanigans here. NPC requests here, set up a thread here. Rewards go here.

TL;DR: Starting on Poi 10, there will be odd tremors around the domain, and more aggressive time distortions. From Poi 11 refugees will lose control of themselves and start attacking Voidtreckers, in and out of the camp.

It will happen abruptly to begin with, but some keen to reading energy will find that it is shifting; like something is breaking in from somewhere else (similar to the time distortions).

Extra equalisers can be picked up from the Ministry base and they will be there to help, but there are also more distortions happening around the domain, so they'll be dealing with those. The Ministry will advise that any non-combatants should stick to the base, and even use the scouting drones to help from afar, if they really need to help.

Undead warriors can be found outside of time distortions, and not all of the people outside of distortions will be 'permanent' people. Equalisers can be kept going for a few hours to keep these people away, but will also need go into recharge/cooling mode.

Don't worry if you're still busy with the Starting log! Or if you've been meaning to tag, jump in here!

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Esteban curses at the scene, rattled and running before he even really thinks about it. He doesn't stop the refugees, because he knows that he's teetering on the edge of too-much violence. It's not until he's seen Tidus grapple at the kid that he even thought there might be a chance to make it through without fighting them all down.

(He-- it-- it's the wakeup, he realizes. He hates that it's not the first time he's woken up with fingers tightening around his neck.)

"You okay?" He's by the swordman's side in an instant, dropping to the balls of his feet so that he can move quickly, but close enough to offer help if there's any need. He doesn't know what's in that tent, or why the two civilians seemed determined to get to it, but Esteban's priority is most definitely his friends.

The breath still quivers in his lungs. His heart is beating way too fast. His spine itches and itches, but he's trying to stay calm, not to make it worse. He's just a whisper from jumping out of his own skin though.

It's strange, the way sounds can blur and everything else; a haze of sound trying to mumble into ears of cottonbud - and a brain like one, too. He's trying to stagger up, hands on hard dirt, everything a bit woozy from a knock to the head that pulses in the same waves that unsteady him. Help would be great, a hand offered getting one gripped onto Esteban's arm while Tidus tries to right his vision.

"Get them out-" He's not there yet, not in his right senses, but between the struggling breath, he's got a goal, one thing he knows, wants, cares about more than himself. His sight still blurry, but he's making appear in his hand - from the nowhere of hammerspace - a bottle.

"I'll follow... get'em - I can knock them out."

There's more he means to say, convey, but he doesn't want Esteban to linger, and he needs to down his potion and hope it'll cover him to get back up and doing what he needs to.

There's a hesitation, a split second where Esteban wants to stay, wants to help Tidus, wants to make sure he's okay. He can recognize a potion anywhere, though, and even if he's worried, at least he knows he's not leaving him helpless either.

Three seconds. He'll be back in three bloody seconds-- and the only reason why he can rip himself from his friend is that he's going to be quick. A blink. Fast as can be.

GO!

It's still hard. He's still worried-- deep breath-- shove the canvas aside to get in the tent. Three. Bloody seconds.

His shift overtakes him mid-movement, the snap of leather as he rushes the tiny enclosure. The man doesn't have the time to turn, a kick to the back of his knees sends him down.

He's moving on instinct, moving without thinking. His heart is pounding, squeezing through his throat. They're civilians, they're civilians! But Esteban doesn't have a tether to hold him back. Panic's made him frantic.

He pounces. A sweep of his tail sends the child stumbling, and a wing slams them back and out of the cloth. The other wing grabs the civilian by the back of his shirt, pulled up-- out, Tidus said out-- and the half-dragon stumbles when the man flails. Limbs spinning, panicked, the man is off-centered, and a low punch and a shoulder slam is enough to get him out of the tent too.

Esteban follows. Stays at the entrance of the tent-- checks for Tidus' condition from where he is.

The man is winded-- curled on his side-- but the child is getting back up. And Esteban hesitates-- just a child. They're just a child.

He doesn't want to hurt them more than this.

Tidus downs the small bottle of green liquid, acting instinctively before anything else. He's done this plenty of times before: get hurt, take medicine, and don't think about the wounds inflicted or how severe they could've been and just move.

Move is what he's doing now, the rush of the medicine coursing through his body, kneeling with some height, ready to stand in a second, but first turning himself to see into the open gap of the tent. --To see the man knocked onto his back near him, Esteban shrouding the threshold between spaces.

The bottle disappears from his hand, a golden outline of where it was left to dissipate as Tidus clenches that fist and to bring it inward. He knows this spell well enough, doesn't need more than a few more seconds for the luminous spheres to gather where he summons them, need them to hold. He scrambles onto his feet with an uneasy stagger, and brings his hand down over the section of the guy's face he can touch.

They startle, readying to thrash, but the orbs disappear into him and make him still. Tidus raises to his feet proper, eyes on Esteban and his shifted form, but for the crease of his brow, he says nothing but a breathy, "Just grab them! It's sleep magic!"

He has a few more words in him, better to explain as he makes a fist with his hand attack, but he's looking to get the job done than to take a breather.

Grabbing is okay. Grabbing he can do. He grapples the child, even if they squiggle like an eel, trying to hit him, but somewhere between Esteban's hands and wings, it gets very hard very fast for them to squirm out. He tries his best not to harm them as he shoves the tiny form at Tidus, trusting the swordman to manage the same spell again, and hoping it's the only thing that needs to be done right now, immediately.

His heart is still thundering in his throat, but he manages to glance over his companion-- standing, though that doesn't mean much, and managing a spell. He hopes there isn't a sign of concussion, and that whatever potion Tidus downed at least helped with that. He hopes it helped with that.

"You okay?" he asks again, throat rasping lightly against the not-yet-there bruises. He's visibly worried, even if he doesn't really have the time to check his companion over as he might like, keeping his eyes moving around to find any other threat coming for them.

Tidus works magic speedily, faster than his body likes but a pace he's become accustomed to. The kid stumbles towards him and both hands come out, one for grabbing a limb and his other to shove into the face better than he had before. Not the most pleasant things to watch, but part of magic is the mind, and it works regardless, the kid not getting to struggle much before they slump for Tidus to catch.

There's relief for it, small as it is, and he's walking to drag the kid as carefully he can (feet lightly scraping the ground, that's all) to the side of the tent so no one can walk over them. Answering at the same time- "Yeah, I'm fine."

It has all the weight of someone in the middle of something, like this whole situation. But once the kid is down - and Tidus scans them with a confused concern, but they seem okay - Tidus directs his attention back onto Esteban. His body on alert, but he can tell the pain in his temple is gone; the dizziness too. And Esteban looks fine, from as much as he can see.

"I dunno what's going on, but we have to stop them!"

What else is there to focus on? There's sounds all around, and Tidus wants to know a why, but right now isn't the time for it.

There is a nod from his companion, slow in his processing of things, but the goal gives him something to work towards, something to focus on.

"'F I bring them t' you, couldj' cast it on them?" Would that work? How many people were in this camp anyways?-- but Esteban immediately knows the answer is probably 'far too many'. It's a stopgap measure, a bit of breathing room at best.

But a bit of breathing room is already more than they have at the moment.

Notes of the song drift by them, melancholic and gentle, completely at odds with the cacophony of the camp-turned-battlefield, and Esteban has to bite back a snarl against it, wings shivering against the almost magnetic pull. Not now. They don't have enough time to look into everything all at once, and even just surviving this morning is turning out to be a challenge, with the newly murderous civilians and the not-sun bearing down on them with blinding rays.

"Yeah-" Tidus starts, but that sound catches him, a trembling under their feet that turns him around. Was something coming? But it settles, and he isn't sure what it was, but he turns back to Esteban again.

"Yeah," he repeats. "C'mon, let's go together. We'll take them out and then round them!"

At least taking them out was a better type than any other meaning of it. There were a couple of refugees, but how many could there be overall here? They weren't always spilling out of from the distortions like a lost swarm. A small handful, but between them and everyone else in the camp --

Tidus had to believe they'd be fine.

The earth rattling under their feet does not get missed. The half-dragon winces, keeping steady as best he could until it passes, wings settling close to his back once the tremors fade. He nods at his companion; they ought to help out as best they can. And with his shape already changed, Esteban doesn't need to hold back.

He brightens a little more than really appropriate. Dangers surround them, the echoes of something singing people to madness still whisper-soft into their ears, and here Esteban is, relieved that he doesn't-- that he can help, properly help. It quirks his lips up in a grin, both in careless relief, and an attempt to cheer Tidus on. They'll need all the strength they can muster.

"Gotcha. Don't get lost, Sunshine~" He can try his best at least to offer the support Tidus had given him, back before he'd even any knowledge of the battles ahead. There is still a knot at his throat, but he swallows it back, braces his thoughts, and starts running.

His strides are longer, balancing on the ball of his feet even just at a jog. Heels no longer touch the ground, but he paces himself to stay close to the blond, a careful eye glancing back to make sure he's keeping up, and remains steady. Just in case.

His smile fades softly; joyfulness eclipsed by a harder edge. Determination thins the edges of his mouth, but he curves them up for his friend whenever he checks on him.

He pounces into the next open area with narrowed eyes, darting with quick skips to the nearest refugee he spots. It still feels wrong to manhandle these innocents, but thinking is a luxury; they don't have the time to be delicate.

His movements have to be swift-- quicker than their voices; Esteban does not have the advantage of stealth. Grappling is easier, strength lent to him by his monstrous form, and height means their struggles are relatively pointless. He drags them quick as he can back, wings curled protectively over the refugee's form as he backtracks towards Tidus.

He wants to make some remark or quip in return for what sounds like a tease, but he settles on, "Roger!" with a lilt, and darts as Esteban does. There's no long strides nor wings to carry Tidus, but he does have a speed of his own, even this early in the morning. No time to care for groggy bones or else in the height of panic, what might happen if they delay.

They're not the only ones awake, emphasised by the other bodies navigating around the domed tents. Tidus sticks his head into the tent opposite the one Esteban investigates, nothing but strewn backpacks and sleeping bags. But he hears the sounds outside closer than others in earshot, has the spell already gathering with the balling of his hand and the grit of his teeth.

He sees Esteban appear with the person, if the sight taking him a second to register with the position of the wings. But he knows their plan, raises his hand - and someone rounds from the side, a sight in the corner of Tidus's eye that makes him look. They startle for a second too, but only need that long to decide to lunge at Esteban and the other refuge, in an attempt to grab them from his grasp, to kick and fight in a struggle of their creation.

Tidus grabs for them from the back, but he can't tell if the spell works; not when all he can do is yank at the cloth of their shirt to try and drag the man back. He earns a kick to his shin for the trouble, a gift he curses without restraint for.

Maybe it's the grasp of his hand on the collar; maybe it's the way the man twists on his heel-- nearly dislocating it as he turns-- eyes crazed in their violent jerk as he raves a wordless scream. The cacophony must have dragged attentions on them, but the man hardly cares, lunging with all of his weight at the swordman.

It's clumsy as far as attempts go, forwards in a simplistic way-- few of the refugees have ever seen a single battle in their lifetime, and it makes them both slow and predictable if they do not hold the edge of a surprise to their attack. But he tries with the demented edge of a rat trapped into a corner, going for the throat.

More are already gathering; rushing in from in-between tents and canvas, feet pounding across the unsteady earth as it rolls once more. One, middle-aged, has silver hair at her temples, and her smile would almost be a comfort if her eyes were seeing anything at all. A gangly teen with freckles across his nose hits the open area running, doesn't even slow as he rushes Tidus just a few seconds behind the first, swinging a mad fist high at his opponent as soon as he is within reach.

Esteban is just as colourful in his curses some steps away, but even with the both of them, there are too many refugees to make casting an easy option. Not in this mess.

This was, for sure, turning into more than a two-person fight.

Not that Tidus immediately has attentions on that, but the hand thrusting at him, its aim deflected only by how Tidus grabs and pushes it up, grips it tight and uses his own weight as a means to drag the man off-balance, to throw him to the side. He doesn't have quite the body-weight to regularly outmatch someone, his own moves clumsy; but Tidus has the upper hand in experience, in converting energy into strength. An action with a cost, but Tidus blots out the exhaustion it'll put upon him with the adrenaline offered by a fight. A battle.

A battle being what this is promising to become, with everyone else that gathers. Tidus has a split second, a "Gibs!" that he shouts with it - and a light bursts from his chest, a sparkling thing that at least gives the woman a reason to see, a blindness. For here appears a being of water and hope usually nestled inside Tidus's heart, now a small ball of water to knock the woman down, and to make it difficult for the teen to have a direct line to Tidus.

Not that it'll stop the youth, just as Tidus himself knows he can't hang around. They grab for Tidus, pulling at an arm, and Tidus doesn't have a great angle to yank them back like he did the other man. And the woman seems undeterred by the appearance of the small being; probably because, for all his power and gifts, it's easy to thwap at a higgledy and knock them over, and then to grab at the leg of the young man it protects.

--might need some help here, Esteban!

The light didn't take him by surprise this time, but the call to it shivers a warning down the half-dragon's spine. His snarl is careless, and rips at his throat, shoving his opponent off with entirely too much fury.

His friend is in danger-- he's been placing his friends in danger, and fire thunders down his veins, roars in his ears.

He darts on quick feet through the few steps between them. Launches himself in the battle without care or wonder, wings and talons and tail snapping with whip-sharp quickness. The teen takes the brunt of his rage, a sharp punch snapped at his lower ribs. It's off-centered, but his lungs struggle to fill, and in the gasp that follows, Esteban shoves him, throwing him further still with his wing. The opposite limb settles to gently nudge Tidus' frame back into some semblance of balance, warmth spreading against his side and around his back.

He doesn't have a good angle to deal with the older woman, can't do much more to help, but a sharp smack of his tail still provides a distraction, stinging at her calf. Only; of course, they are careless to this, these puppets without minds, and Esteban has to pull his wing back, before the man struggling back to his feet can think of taking it in hand.

His back to Tidus' side, he takes a deep breath and tries to temper down his strength, struggling not to make lasting damage. Across from them, the opponent Esteban had been struggling with is also rushing, her eyes completely devoid of reason. He has to swallow back the thoughts that want to crawl all over him-- there's no time to be gentle right now.

With a tug, the older woman tries her best to disbalance Tidus again, and the shift has Esteban cursing, bracing the wing still supporting him. It breaks his concentration from the fight, and movement is too swift for him to follow through.

The man uses it to dash into the half-dragon, scrambling at a wing. Behind him, the women team up to overtake Tidus and throw him down, hardly caring about anything else. One tries to pull his legs from underneath him while the other rushes blindly, elbow held up before her and aiming at his neck as she throws her entire weight at him.

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Fissures of Time: Ongoing

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Esteban the guard dog. XD

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Oof, action scenes are hard.

tiredly nods

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