middleofsomewhere | Red Team Finale

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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.

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There is a veritable army of snowmen and they are trying to protect Professor Chill and his cronies who are on top of the mountain. The voidtreckers must fight their way through.

(OOC: Play your own monsters in this part, team up, fight hard!)

For those that manage to fight their way through the snowmen they will find three figures stood on the mountain top. In the centre is Professor Chill, flanked by a man and woman who seem a lot more bothered by the storm than the Professor is.

As the first heroes make their way over the peak all three turn their attention on them.

(OOC: For this part please all reply in one single thread. Each round will be marked by an NPC tag and then each character may tag once before the next round begins. If you are late joining or miss a round don’t worry! Just tag into the most recent round and either assume your character was always there or got caught up with snowmen!)

Nerdanel brought no weapon, but she is Noldor. She went never to war, the way so many of her family did, and she was forbidden to follow the Hosts of the Valar to Beleriand during the War of Wrath.

This does not mean she is helpless.

Somewhere along the line, she picked up a stick. Ostensibly for helping her climb the mountain. In truth, however... she's a lot stronger than she looks. Working with stone will do that to a body, plus, she's Eldar. One of the older laiquendi, born and raised beneath the blessings of the Valar and Light of the Trees. In the gloom of the storm she almost glows, if you look at her right. The soft welcome gleam and warmth of a banked hearthfire. She used the wander the wilds of Valinor, and even in blessed Aman there were beasts that sometimes need a big whack to the head.

Also that stick might be enchanted by Maglor, or even Feanor.

Considering how easily it smashes snowmen, it could just be that they're snow, it's wood, and she's strong, of course.

Live from a nearby perch a fire arrow lands right into a snowman. Thea is a guard on Purple but sees Red is having problems so is lending a hand the only way she can.

Archery.

47 managed to extricate himself from fighting snowmen fairly quickly, ducking out of the scene as soon as he had the perfect opportunity to go unseen. Despite the weather conditions or perhaps even because of it he was entirely capable to disappear with ease. There may not have been any closets to hide in but high snowbanks weren't so bad for the job.

The rest was simple enough. There were plenty of distractions for 47 to take advantage of to sneak his way to the top. It was time to end this. Unfortunately, and 47 was aware of this unfortunate fact, his enemies up top had the better vantage point and could easily keep an eye out while not embroiled in the battle themselves.

47 didn't care. It had been a while since he'd participated in a shoot-out or beat-'em-up brawl but if that's what it came down to he was prepared. He drew his pistol and took aim. The obvious target was the professor. He fired his first shot.

The three of them seem focused on something though it is not obvious what that is. Still their eyes were on their surroundings and 47 would get the feeling that they were seeing much better than the voidtreckers were. As if the storm weren't there at all.

But still 47 is trained in stealth and he shoots. The professor moves but the bullet hits his shoulder and he stumbles backwards with a yell. Both of the others rush to his side, one tending to him as the other stands as guard.

"Snow yourself!"

Trickles of water begin to move towards 47, across the frozen snowbank.

"How many ice puns are there," Lightning muttered. One guy who loved puns, and suddenly everyone was doing it. She was doing it. Every time someone made a snow joke, they'd get an obnoxiously smug look on their face, and it was doing bad things for her self-control in regards to not punching her teammates.

Another thing she was doing was making herself as visible and threatening as possible. She had no idea where 47's shot had come from, but he'd be more effective if he wasn't pinned by return fire. That meant making a nuisance of herself so they didn't have time to look for him.

One enhanced forward flip up the last section of the peak later, and she was almost suspended in the air with magic screaming along both arms. And because it had just been that kind of week, "Nice to finally melt you!"

Two Fira spells blasted out from her towards the clustered trio.

Tony finally struggled free of the snowmen that had erupted nearby. He might be worn down from the journey, but no one would know it from the furious blasts he sent toward the Professor. He specifically isn't punning as it has been going on all went and he just wants it to snow off.

Okay, maybe he was doing it a little.

Fëanor does no ice, snow or any other low-temperature puns as he considers them exceptionally bad taste.

It does not, however, mean he has no opinion. He does. He so much does. One could wonder if in expressing said opinion he hasn't actually made things worse. It wouldn't be the first time.

"Cease your folly, wicked sorcerer! Wretched vulture you are and nothing more!" He shouts in the direction of the trio on the mountain top. Ice and snow melt all around him as he's radiating heat like a roaring furnace. He's sick of the ice, sick of the snow, sick of this insignificant, little man there and his stupid goons.

All the distractions were a nice touch to his endeavors. By now he was beginning to get used to all the seemingly impossible feats his fellow train passengers could preform and the fiery explosions were just another part of the day. He took the moment to change positions, still staying low and as out of sight as possible.

He had no idea what the trickles of water were but he caught the movement out of the corner of his eye. Whatever it was it was headed for his relative position and if he had to guess based on it's movement alone he'd say it was a hunter-killer set. That meant trouble for him if they found his position.

47 moved again, more slowly, doing his best to go undiscovered. He just needed another shot. If he couldn't get the main target first then perhaps he could take out the lieutenant that was distracted by trying to tend to the professor. Another gunshot rang out.

A rumble rippled across the ground and an ice golem rose in front of the trio, just in time to be hit by Lightning's fire and melt back to the ground. The wind picked up around her, beginning to swirl dangerously, threatening to throw her back down to earth.

The professor himself seems to be getting back to his feet as small ice shards spring up around him, like shields against Tony's blasts though one had him stumbling backwards again. "Ice you're a little piste at me." He answered Fëanor. Icicles sprang from the ground under where the group stood, dangerous but foretold by more rumbling and the ice beginning to shift.

It seems they were doing a good job at being distracting as no ice shields sprang up at the second shot. The man next to the professor stumbled and fell to the ground.

Around 47 more liquid ice began to move, circling him and getting closer.

Edited 2020-01-23 05:54 (UTC)

They'd been in the storm long enough that Light didn't expect much more air time, so she was already dropping down as the golem rose. It didn't prevent the howling winds from blowing snow and hail into her face or the force of it buffeting her out of formation, and her landing was a little ungainly as she scrubbed at her eyes with one hand and threw another, smaller Fire in the direction of the professor's taunts. She didn't care if it hit. The spells would home to a degree, but she just needed it to cover her retreat.

Temporarily blinded as she was, she left the front line and backed towards Fëanor's voice. The others could handle it for a few seconds.

The ICA agent would have liked to take another shot at his targets but the movement closing in on him made it a high risk factor to his own person. And while the mission was more important than his life, he also wasn't lacking in self preservation. If he lived he could go on another mission. That was what he lived for.

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.

Fëanor laughs.

"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.

The explosion is loud but effective. The liquid ice melts away, leaving 47 clear. The woman near the professor starts making her way over, she seems to have little difficulty moving through the storm and treads a path to where the explosion was seen.

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.

The explosion behind him is worrying but Fëanor is not going to show it. Far from it. He trusts the rest of the Red team to react.

"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.

Tony moved quickly but he wasn't in time to stop all of the assault on Light. He got to her right after she flung her spell and started to retreat. He grabbed her arm with one hand and held his shield with the other, he helped move her back to safety.

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.

Fire spread out from Fëanor, melting a path as it moved. Snowmen melted away and Professor Chill dived out of the way, the ice shield evaporating from the heat.

"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.

47 took his time aligning another shot now that the armored man was between him and the woman. For a split second he was torn between shooting the female while her attention was focused on dodging Tony's energy blasts and aiming another shot at the Professor while Feanor had his attention. The ice shields were melted. It was as good a chance as any.

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.

Fire, and Nerdanel's head jerks up. She knows how her husband died, the first time. As the fallen Noldor returned, they brought the tales of Feanor's firey death with them.

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.

Fëanor isn't wounded like the last time so it should be fine. It should. Only it isn't. He's too tired. Too angry. And the fire feeds on his anger. His rage is its fuel.

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.

A blizzard blows stronger, threatening to whip everyone off their feet. The magic inside it is mixed with Professor Chill's laughter and wars with Nerdanel's song as fire burns and ice freezes.

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.

The wind is strong, but stone endures, and Nerdanel stands against the icy blast, and when it fades she runs straight for her husband, ignoring the body.

"Feanaro!" Oh, what's he done to his arm ...

Breaking out of the icicles, Tony saw that Professor Chill had been taken out. That left the woman. He took off after her and tackles her to the ground. He socks her hard, but with a calculated strength to not do too much damage. He just wanted her knocked out nothing more.

She was prepared for being shot, had her eye on those blasts, but she wasn't quite expecting to be tackled.

She struggled, lashing out at Tony but his blow knocked her out and she crumpled into the snow.

“Nerdanel”

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.”

"You frightened me, Feanaro." She allows herself to be pulled closer, wrapping her arms around him in turn.

Don't go where I cannot follow.

"What's wrong with your arm?"

He leans down burying his face in her hair. It was a risk. He knew it was. He just hoped he can contain it. It should have never looked so horribly as it did.

"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?"

She frowns at it.

"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.

[Obsidian blades can break if used without caution but they cut like nothing else. The dagger slices through layers of synthetics, all melded together now as they are. Whatever there was of the more natural fibers has burned away as he expected. The rest, a bigger portion, didn't.

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.

[ She reaches over and steadies his hand ]

Hush, my dear. Let me.

[ She takes the knife ]

Lean on me, Feanaro. Let me help you.

[It was her voice that anchored him here when everything else was fire. It is her hand now that stops him from slipping away.]

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?]

Stay with me, Feanaro.

[ 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 ]

[The charm may not be the most potent spell. It doesn't have to. It matters who sings it. It helps. For once the icy wind that was such a hindrance this whole mission is a sudden and unexpected blessing. His arm looks awful but the wound cools rapidly once the plastic is removed.]

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.]

It's good that we're in a cold environment.

[ 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 ]

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Red Team Finale

Snowman Fighting

Professor Chill

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Re: Snowman Fighting

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Round change

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/slides this in here please feel free to ignore her she's just worried about her IDIOT husband

/nope, no way i'm ignoring this

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hijacking this a little to the side when no one is looking ;)

yesgood

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cw: burn injury, i can tone it down if it's too explicit

I've dealt with worse at work XD

um, of course, silly me

<3 <3 <3

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 but wrap?

yus <3