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middleofsomewhere2020-01-19 08:32 am
voidtreckermods) wrote in middleofsomewhere2020-01-19 08:32 am
Red Team Finale
After four gruelling days and nights trecking over a blizzard wrecked mountain range they finally seem to be coming to the point where the SCA is leading them. High up in the mountains, the blizzard is thick and keeping together will be difficult. It is easy to get lost, snowdrifts are high and often seeing past the end of their hand is a challenge.
But as the blizzard swirls it is possible to see three figures on the highest peak. It is hard to see through the storm but as they get closer it is clear that one of the figures at least, can see them.
“Icey you have managed to navigate my storm.” The voice is cold and doesn’t sound surprised at all. Despite the distance and the howling winds it is not hard to hear him, as if the wind was carrying the voice from him to you.
“Snow problem of course, you can’t stop me now.” There’s a rumble, a ripple that seems to move the earth itself, enough to knock them off their feet if they don’t brace themselves.
A moment later from all around them snowmen rise, wielding sharp icicles in both hands they stand between the red team and Professor Chill. Laughter echoes through the storm.
But as the blizzard swirls it is possible to see three figures on the highest peak. It is hard to see through the storm but as they get closer it is clear that one of the figures at least, can see them.
“Icey you have managed to navigate my storm.” The voice is cold and doesn’t sound surprised at all. Despite the distance and the howling winds it is not hard to hear him, as if the wind was carrying the voice from him to you.
“Snow problem of course, you can’t stop me now.” There’s a rumble, a ripple that seems to move the earth itself, enough to knock them off their feet if they don’t brace themselves.
A moment later from all around them snowmen rise, wielding sharp icicles in both hands they stand between the red team and Professor Chill. Laughter echoes through the storm.
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47 began to retreat though he did so laterally. He wanted to keep a good distance for firing on his prey.
The snake-like substance was far too close for comfort though and 47 pulled something from his pocket. He considered the proximity. He decided it was now or never; if the attackers got too close he wouldn't be able to use this method of retaliation.
He threw a baseball at a pair of the liquid snakes. The ball exploded violently on contact with whatever it hit.
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"Oh no!" he shouts back. "You're just annoying little mosquito. As pathetic as your poor choice of words!"
One of the goons, the man, falls to the ground. Good. That leaves the woman and the professor himself. The little explosion from the direction where the shots came is a bit worrying. So is the shifting ice and the springing icicles. The icicles he can break or melt his way through the whole field of them. That's hardly enough to stop him.
As long as those moron's attention is on him, the man with a number for a name can shoot. Fëanor has an idea for that icy shield too. He just needs to get close enough.
And hope that his wife won't stop him because that particular idea happens to be a little on the riskier side of things.
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The professor sneers at Fëanor. "It is snow matter what you think. You are too late."
The ground rumbled again and more icicles sprang up around them.
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"I beg to differ," he replies casually not stopping on his way up even for a moment. "You should be paying more attention. You may rise as many of those icy abominations as you like but heed my words for I am Feanaro, Spirit of Fire."
He has been raising the temperature with each step he takes. Relinquishing control over the fire just a little at a time. The air shimmers and snow melts around him slowing him down a little. He's got mere moment before he won't be able to hold it anymore.
Enough to send a thought, a command, no, a plea to his oldest son.
Nelyo. Whatever happens, whatever you hear, please don't look up.
Fëanor takes one more step closer finally getting in range. "Bring them and I shall burn them all down!" As he says that the flames burst forward enveloping everything on their path like a raging river of fire. The sound of it rivaling the howling of the storm for one, long moment.
That should take care of the ice shield. Hopefully. He's out ideas what to do if it doesn't.
It would also be great if someone took a spare set of clothes. His own are going to be very uncomfortable very soon.
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From there, he was racing to put himself in between Tobias and the woman. Shooting more blasts, this time concentrated on just her, he stood defense and ready to engage her hand to hand if she kept moving closer.
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"Ice you like it hot!" A blast of icy wind burst towards Fëanor's fire, ice fighting fire. Fire is stronger but the ice holds it's own for a moment.
Meanwhile the woman dove out of the way, dodged behind snowdrifts as she tried to get to 47. A shot hit and she fell, just for a moment before she doggedly climbed back to her feet. Icicles shot up around Tony.
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His attention shifted back to the Professor. It was harder for him to move through the snow than the woman but he was still competent and stubborn enough to get a better angle, making certain neither Tony nor the woman would get in the way while they battled. By this point he'd strafed around the side of the battlefield and he took another shot at the Professor that hopefully was more unexpected than even before.
/slides this in here please feel free to ignore her she's just worried about her IDIOT husband
No!
She's not their son, to raise a storm with her voice alone, but there is one tie that is theirs, that she can reach without needing any skill at all - the marriage bond. She flings it wide open, and raises her voice in Song.
Stone and Earth to anchor flame, to ground it, to stand firm against the icy wind. Come back to me, Feanaro! Her strength to add to his.
/nope, no way i'm ignoring this
For a brief moment, a heartbeat, a blink of an eye, the flames envelope him whole and he feels that everything, the mountain, the cold, this stupid little man, his stupid ice monsters, stupid ice puns, and his stupid icy wind, everything slips away. All drown in the sea of red.
But there's a force stronger than his fury and it calls him back. Anchors him to the world of the living. Fëanor draws breath and the fire recedes. He reaches over their shared bond. I am not going anywhere. I'm sorry I made you worry.
He's calm, he's fine. Well, almost. The icy shield is no more so the man with a number for a name can shoot unhindered. Fëanor brushes off the charred remains of what was many layers of clothing on his right arm. It should fall off, burned to ash, but it doesn't. All of it baked into a hard crust over his arm. Uh-oh. That's not how textiles should work. That's when he realizes he can't feel his fingers.
Now. That's embarrassing.
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Then a shot rings out, heard even above the howling storm and cold laughter. One shot and the laughter stops. The blizzard doesn't die but is lessens. Howling winds calm and snow falls normally.
Professor Chill crumpled to the ground. "You don't... sleigh me so easily..."
His eyes closed and he slumped into the snow.
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"Feanaro!" Oh, what's he done to his arm ...
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She struggled, lashing out at Tony but his blow knocked her out and she crumpled into the snow.
hijacking this a little to the side when no one is looking ;)
He calls out to her. Pulls her close when she runs to him. Even if he only can hold her with his left arm. His right is a bit unusable right now. But the storm died, the sky cleared and he’s still here. It was close but now it’s over.
“You stopped me.”
yesgood
Don't go where I cannot follow.
"What's wrong with your arm?"
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"I'm sorry." His voice is barely above a whisper. "I thought I can control it better."
Now. That. That's another piece of evidence grossly he miscalculated his action.
"It should have fallen off," he tries to explain. " The fabric. It melted instead of burning. I don't understand why."
It should have. Every fabric he knows, linen, wool, silk; every single one burns to ash. Not the thing their winter clothes are made of here. So it didn't burn. It absorbed the heat from the fire, melted and now it's giving it back. He can feel it burning his skin under that solid crust.
His own fire would do him no harm. Unless he was severely wounded or dying already. But this? This can.
"Do you still have the dagger I gave you?"
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"It does not look like fabric at all, now." She touches it briefly and hisses. "And it is hot!"
A nod and she passes him the dagger - he may tolerate flames better than another, but he can still burn, as they already know.
cw: burn injury, i can tone it down if it's too explicit
The skin underneath is angry red and there are already blisters starting to form. That's nothing new. Simply being around the forge puts one in danger of getting a spot burn here and there. Too easily some of that too hot metal being worked on can end in the wrong places if one is not careful. He had dealt with burns before.
Another cut, parallel to the one before. He should be able to take the first piece off. His whole field of vision suddenly goes black for a moment when he pulls at it. Not exactly Balrog's whips but it doesn't have to. His nerves are already screaming as if he tried to rip off his skin along with the plastic. Which probably happened.
He takes a deep breath. Alright. That would need a horizontal cut too. Another breath. Not alright. The hand holding the dagger starts to tremble. Very not alright.
He looks up to Nerdanel.
I'm so sorry...]
I might need help with this.
I've dealt with worse at work XD
Hush, my dear. Let me.
[ She takes the knife ]
Lean on me, Feanaro. Let me help you.
um, of course, silly me
Yes. Please.
[Two words. That is all he manages to say. He has no breath left for more. It is as if his spirit recoils from the pain. Rejecting the source of it in the process. As if it belonged to someone else. How feeble are the bonds that tie him to this new body?]
<3 <3 <3
[ She murmurs, bracing him, drawing him down to kneel with her in the snow ]
I will be as swift as I may.
[ Better to be quick than slow, she knows. It will hurt either way. Softly, she begins the charm that all parents learn, to soothe pain and calm nerves, a silly, almost meaningless jingle. And then, she draws a deep breath and cuts. They've dealt with burns before, but never anything like this. She cuts down with focus - the knife comes to her from her husband's hand - it knows him, and she stops when it tells her when it reaches him, moving in a single long cut to open the carapace ]
<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 but wrap?
I think I have a medical kit in my backpack. [If he didn't forget to pack it.] There should a couple of bandages inside.
[This whole mission, more than anything showed one thing. They are stronger together.]
yus <3
[ She agrees, practically. It's a simple enough job from there to douse his arm in water and wrap the bandages around the burns gently. He'll heal, and be well enough, in a few days after all. Nerdanel is always grateful that they heal well ]