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syeira

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Who: Syeira, Arthur, Maglor, and Finrod.
Broadcast:None
Action: On the planet
When: The end of July

It's very like a quest from back home. Gathering a group of assorted persons and types to go traipsing off to an only vaguely known location to see if they could get some kind of trinket. That was pretty much her daily life before the fleet, so she feels a pleasant sense of nostalgia that has her in a chipper mood.

Yes, she only needed one person to go to this apparent magic gift giving tree, but why take one when you could have a group? And it's not exactly wise to walk over a day into forested area with only two people. That's just begging for trouble, even if the natives were all friendly, you should never discount the dangers of the wild.

She may be the shortest of the group, but she leads them, gliding over the ground swift and easily, no root, rock, or fallen tree tripping up her sure steps. She knows the direction they're supposed to go, and so they have no map.

"It's supposed to be another half a day from here, I think. Does anyone need to rest?"

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Arthur looks totally out of his element. He's sweaty, he's dirty, and he's wearing casual clothes with loose hair. He hadn't counted on this being so... treacherous. But Syeira wanted this, and Arthur couldn't deny her anything. Her other companions were attractive and sure-footed (and nice guys, too). He wasn't clumsy, but... well, he was just human.

He trips over a rock, not falling, but tripping over his feet and cursing. "I'm-... No, I'm good."

Maglor moves easily through the forest, but he turns back as Arthur trips - he likes what he sees of Arthur, and Syeira likes him, so...

"We can stop, if you like." He offers. "It is not as if we are in a hurry."

Finrod glances between Maglor and Arthur and nods.

"It might be wise. We should pace ourselves and we do not know that we will always have a suitable spot."

Whether he actually needs to rest is another question entirely and one that he doesn't intend to answer. He just has a feeling it may be easier for Arthur to accept a rest if he isn't the only one interested. Call it intuition.

"That's a good point." Syeira nods, walking to Arthur's side. He's so out of his element, she feels a bit responsible.

"Let's take a few minutes. It's a pretty spot."

"If you're sure," he says to all three, taking the out. He reaches out to touch Syeira's arm, to reassure her he's okay, and stops mid-reaching. He's still not sure where they're at.

He nods to them, his own version of a silent thank you, and sits down on a rock nearby, grunting. Resting is good.

"It's beautiful out here," he says as he looks around.

Maglor looks up, resting a hand on one of the nearby trees.

"It truly is. It almost reminds me of..." His voice trails off, but Finrod doubtless feels it too, the almost-alive of the trees reminding both of long ago and far away, but Maglor's voice holds a longing that he knows will never be assuaged.

"-of Home. Yes." And the way he weights the word 'home,' it's clear that they both mean something more than just their homeworld. But whatever they may mean, Finrod doesn't feel the need to elaborate on it. Instead, he simply seats himself on the ground and leans back, looking casually about the group.

"This is a remarkable place, truly. It has been quite some time since I have encountered so many accustomed to speaking mind-to-mind."

She sees Arthur reach for her and hesitate, and meets the gesture half way, taking his hand briefly. He's allowed to touch her. She doesn't want him to feel like things are awkward. She gives his hand a reassuring squeeze, before letting go.

"Is that common on Arda?" She includes both elves with the question. She's endlessly interested in their world.

He smiles at the squeeze at his hand. But then he's curious about their world, too, is full of questions about it, but he leaves them to answer the one, looking between them. Hold on while he slips off his boot and lets the rocks and dirt fall out of it.

"Not as such." Maglor hums thoughtfully. "But many of my kinsfolk have at least some skill in that area."

He shoots a sly grin over his shoulder at Finrod. "You should ask my cousin about his sister when she was younger."

Finrod groans. "I love my sister dearly, you must understand, but I have never met another so gifted with such things- and that is not always easy to live with. When she was small, she had an uncanny knack for remarking upon things which you would prefer she did not."

She laughs a little. "I, for one, promise not to make commentary on anything should we end up exchanging thoughts. And I mean that for all of you."

She's standing at a slight distance, in a watch position, but her focus is on her friends. It's only for a few minutes rest, she imagines there can't be much danger on a planet of huggers.

Arthur laughs with her, trying to imagine Finrod's sister. She must have a lot of spunk in her, from what he said.

He's enjoying himself with this group. He's not at all watching for any danger, just slipping his boot back on and smiling. His eye's on Syeira now that she's speaking. "Like embarrassing memories? Thoughts about picking my nose?" he jokes at her before turning his attention to the other two. "Do you mind if I ask if you two have the ability? Off this planet even."

"She was a little terror." Maglor remembers fondly. "We all had to learn to guard our thoughts strictly, and even then she would pick things up."

Maglor soots a smile at his cousin. "Finrod can - my skills in osanwe are poor, in truth. It is far to noisy inside my head to truly listen."

And then he stiffens, frowning, hand dropping to where he once carried a sword.

"Finrod, can you hear that? Something... is coming."

Finrod stands, his own hand falling to the hilt of his sword (at least one of them has one), and stares out into the distance, following Maglor's gaze.

"I think... perhaps we should not linger."

"What is it?" Syeira is once again acutely missing her own weapons. She can't perceive the same way Finrod and Maglor can, but she can hear that the birds have gone quiet. Never a good sign.

She moves back close to Arthur. If they have to run, he'll need a guide.

Arthur listens closely, sensing something wrong by the way the others are reacting. He stands slowly, quietly. He wants to be ready to run if they have to.

The trees are shaking now, the branches pulling apart as something huge is coming toward them, and Arthur can't believe what he's seeing.

"Run!" he screams, "It's dangerous!" He'll stick to Syeira's side while running, but they're not going to be able to outrun that... dinosaur for long with how slow Arthur is.

Stupid, Makalure his ghosts berate him. You got too comfortable. You should have at least looked for a knife!

His hands clench uselessly and when the trees move he echoes Arthur.

"Move, now!"

Dragon, or something very like. Only one of them properly armed, and he wishes for a bow, at the least, although he has not been able to draw a full-size war bow for centuries. He keeps himself between Arthur and the beast, and desperately reaches for Song, trying to fling blindness in the eyes of the monster.

Finrod hisses a few less than savory words in Quenya before drawing his sword and taking his place a small distance apart from the rest of the group. Occasionally, he darts forward, slashing at the creature's heels before sprinting back to safety.

He hopes it will slow the beast down, eventually. At the very least, it gives the others a few moments where the animal is not focused on them.

They aren't going to out run it like this. It's steps are too long. She doesn't know the area, but risking a Shadow Walk would be better than this. The problem is, Finrod isn't running with them. And she won't leave him behind.

"Stay together, head back south." She barks it, a command, as she turns on her heel and heads back towards the danger, and Finrod.

He's distracted the beast, but that means he's the direct focus of it's attention. And she has no usable weapons, only a knife that against the scales of the dragon, is practically useless. But that doesn't mean anything to her. She scoops up a rock, and launches it sharply, nailing the beast just below it's beady eye.

And now she has its attention. It's not happy. But Syeira is smiling. "Come on! I'm right here!"

Arthur turns back immediately with a - "What the fuck!" There's being heroic with a sword, and then there's being heroic with a knife and a rock. He sprints toward her, shouting, "Fucking run, Syeira!". He trips and lands hard on the ground, crying out as his arm hits the ground, a cut opening up on his cheek. He attempts to scramble up, his eyes trained on the monster before them.

Arthur goes down and Syeira turns back, and Maglor feels despair rise in him like a choking cloud.

No. Not this time. Not while he can stop it.

He runs to the Man, drags him up, pushes him behind him to keep running.

"On your feet, hurry! Keep moving." All the skills of Command he knows in his voice.

And then he turns to the monster and pours himself out in Song. He is not Finrod, who knows how to coax the Song into clever illusions, nor is he Galadriel, who could loose foundations and throw down towers of sorcery. But Makalaure Kanafinwe he remains, the lost bard of the Noldor, one of Feanor's sons, with all the fire inherent in that line.

He flings blindness into the monster's eyes, snares for it's mind, confusion and illusion, skills learnt in desperation on a battlefield. He spends himself recklessly, wildly, for his cousin, for his friend, and the friend of his friend.

It leaves him vulnerable, his whole being tuned into Song.

Finrod gets a vaguely horrified expression on his face when Syeira jumps into the fray. His whole intention was to keep the beast away from everyone who wasn't armed. What was she thinking? What was Maglor thinking, throwing all his concentration into his Song like that? There was no way, just no way-

Still.

He weaves his voice seamlessly into Maglor's melody, deliberately, carefully, adding support where the power is strained.

Well great. Everyone's playing hero, and it's not at all appropriate concerted. She blames herself really. She should have grabbed Finrod at the first. She knows his type. She is his type.

It's not a bad idea, except blinding and confusing a giant, violent lizard results in it widely thrashing around. It's tail whips back and forth, it's head lowers snapping at anything, nothing. It's not happy at all, and looking to defend itself against unseen attacks. With Maglor and Arthur immobile, they are easily in the path of those wild snaps. It's only a matter of time before it finds them, or stumbles on them or takes out Finrod with that thrashing tail.

She takes a breath.

And runs directly at the beast.

"All of you RUN!" She shouts it, even though she doubts they'll listen to her any better than they had the first time. But it's too late to worry about it, she's made her decision.

The Taint rushes up in her blood like a wave to the shore, for once called on and accepted. Her eyes turn from green to glowing golden amber, and then the change takes the rest of her.

It's a violent, abrupt thing. Her body almost seems to explode into larger, longer limbs. Spines and a tail appear, her fingers become talons, her feet turn to claws, clothing vanishing with transformation, rather than shredding. Her defining features strip way into a macabre twisted visage; a hairless, gaping maw, filled with fangs bellows forth an unnatural, inhuman sound.

The Slayer resembles nothing of the small woman it came from, save for the color of its flesh is the same blood red as her hair had been. It slams into the lizard, a full ten feet tall and still only about half it's height. But it is a vicious, deadly thing. The talons rake at the tough scales, leaving long open wounds that turn black with frost bite along the ragged seams.

It has the beasts full attention, even if the thing cannot see the creature attacking it. Which was the point. What small part of Syeira's consciousness is still operating inside the Slayer form, hopes that they actually take the chance she's given them.

"Sy-" He stops. And he watches the woman he cares about more than anything run toward the danger, like she always does when someone's in trouble, like she always will. She's changing, changing into something that would give a lot of people nightmares. And he knows. It's what she's talked about. This evil inside her.

Then it's like explosions go off as she completely turns into something else. Taller, vicious. She slams into the dinosaur, and he knows she's giving them a chance. A chance to run.

He doesn't take it. He's proud of her. So proud. But he's also unbelievably scared and frustrated. Don't leave me, don't leave me, he thinks as he runs just a hair closer. He knows she's in there somewhere, so he shouts with all his might, "Don't lose yourself!" Before he's ducking by a tree for cover.

Maglor's gratefulnes for Finrod's support and better skill shines clear, the two cousins falling into harmony easily, despite the years between them, a tangling net to ensare their enemy.

And then Syeira does that.

Fear-for-kinsman spikes through Maglor's song, a sharp, devasting blow, an agony of fear and grief, and his song spirals high into an aching, terrible lament, pain and memory and present blending into a knife blow aimed squarely at his enemy.

He knows what this is - so many of his kin have done this, thrown themselves into danger's path for another. So few of them ever came back.

Not her his song begs. Please, not her.

He sees the monster and he keens grief for her, for the beautiful, brave young heart that would throw it all away.

Take me, oh, take me, only spare her

Finrod's song- and his face- is a jumble of emotion- shock, horror, sorrow, fear. He understands now, all that she said-but-did-not-say in their conversations, and his heart aches for her and the burden he knows she carried. But all this is thought only in a moment; he has no time to consider it deeply. He can't be distracted, not now. Not while there's still a chance.

His voice quakes as he sings, and it takes him longer than he would like to steady it. But the melody comes through all the same; he does not sing of grief, not yet. Instead, it's a song of protection, as best he can make it- of shields, of armor, of fortresses tall and strong.

Keep her safe. He wills. Please, just keep her safe. Don't let this be a last stand.

They're still there. She's aware of it in a distant sort of way. For her mind is filled with rage and bloodlust, the urge to rend and bleed and kill. The songs in the air seem to fall away from the Slayer like water from a duck. The form is both gift and curse, as are all things given by wicked gods. The Slayer might be shielded, might be healed, but within Syeira struggles. Her soul fighting its own battle to hold on, while the Evil climbs up and drowns her.

It's not a quick battle, minutes roll by where it becomes obvious that the Slayer is drawing it out. The creature that was the girl doesn't just lust for the kill, but for pain. And it inflicts so much upon the lizard beast. Wounds that ooze, and turn black from hoarfrost, are ripped here and there, as the beast thrashes, blind still, defying death. It will die, surely. It must, but it is a predator too and will try to take whatever it can with it.

Those large jaws snap at long sinewy legs, arms. Chomping when it senses some piece, some limb near enough. For the most part, the Slayer is agile and elusive, as well as protected by well meaning Song. But it is not utterly a god yet, merely a mortal avatar, so it is bound to fail now and then. The then happens with a catch of teeth on the long line of muscle and bone that is it's left leg. There is a crunch and a rageful screech from the red devil, and the game has finally come to it's close.

The Slayer plunges it's long talons straight through the dragon-beast's narrow eye; it's brain turning black with a cold so fierce it burns the tiny organ black as pitch. The beast loosens it's jaws to bellow but the signal never reaches its destination, and the beast falls over, thunderously. Dead, mauled, and mangled. Victory. Yet the Slayer is ever lustful, and turns then to those who did not head the girl's warning. The Slayer knows no faith but death. It will choose the one that's closest.

Within, Syeira scrabbles desperately. Her soul is so weak, her will can only sustain her so far, and she's been in the form too long. She must reign it in! Run! Run! She screams, but her voice doesn't come out. Only the howl of the Slayer.

Arthur watches, awed and shocked. He's never been so frightened in his life, never so scared in all his times of being trapped and injured or attacked in dreams. Real life can be so much more frightening.

He starts to realize that the form she's taken might go after him. He's not closest, but he's the weakest. This is his only chance to get away. And that's why Syeira had done that. He makes his way backward, into the trees, holding his arm. He's watching Finrod and Maglor, but there's not much he can do for them if the Slayer goes after them.

Maglor can hear Syeira's Song, desperately trying to stay afloat in a sea of something that makes him want to rip it apart and torture it for daring to try and put out her light. (It reminds him of Ungoiliant, of the Unlight, of the Corrupter, and she deserves better than this!)

Arthur starts to back away as the beast-that-was-a-girl turns towards them, and that is good. Maglor's song crests high (light-in-the-dark, a hand outstretched to Syeira in grief and hope and loss), but he also slowly, carefully, starts backing away - Finrod is the only one armed, and Maglor has enough sanity left to register that if Syeira is truly lost inside the beast, Finrod is the only one who can stop her.

(He does not go far - if Finrod cannot... then... well. Maglor has made the hard choice before.)

His song turns to bolster his cousin, now, although it never stops reaching for Syeira, grief and loss and bitter hope.

He keeps himself between Arthur and the beast.

Edited 2016-08-11 03:24 (UTC)

Finrod watched the carnage with wide eyes, realizing the full gravity of the situation for the first time. The dragon-not-dragon falls to the ground, dead, and the beast turns its gaze to him and to Maglor...

That's quite enough for Finrod, frankly. He was willing enough to fight the dragon-creature, but this- this is not something he wants to face. He does not particularly want to fight the beast, but more than that- Syeira is still there, somewhere, inside that monster, and the thought of slashing at her with his sword is enough to make him ill.

But he can't just stand there either. So he grabs Maglor by the back of his shirt and pulls him along as he scrambles backwards, trying to keep a distance between them and the beast.

"Any ideas, cousin?"

The Slayer's leg is half ruined, which slows it down, but doesn't stop it. Inside, Syeira fights to take back control, to not let it slip away. Perhaps Maglor's song helps, or the sight of Arthur, injured, or Finrod looking for a way out without harm coming to any of them. But something changes.

The Slayer is three strides from reaching them, when it starts. It's as if the thing is folding back in on itself, turning back into small woman it came from. It isn't as fast as when it came out, like it's having to be forced inside a space too small to fit it. But soon there's pink skin, wild curls. Syeira, clothes covered in blood, leg crushed and useless, is suddenly there. She stumbles, falling to the ground, practically face first.

Arthur skids to a stop once the transformation is done.

"Syeira!" he shouts, frightened by how bloody she is. He doesn't think it's the end, though. He moves as soon as she's down, going back over to her side and not waiting on the others. He doesn't think they're hurt like she is.

He dives to his knees beside her, carefully lifting her into his lap. "Syeira."

Maglor bites his lip as Finrod falls back.

(I made the choice once before)

"Give me the blade, I..."

But he never has to finish saying it, for it is then that the transformation begins.

(Dangerous, dangerous)

He stops to watch, and when Arthur rushes forwards Maglor hangs back, dropping his head into his hands to breathe.

(Syeira. He almost... )

"Finrod, can you heal her?"

Finrod rushes forward just as quickly as he had fallen back, trying desperately to keep a clear enough head to survey the damage.

"I will try, Maglor, but I am no healer." His brow furrows as he kneels down, taking a small flask from his belt and handing it to Arthur.

"Give her this. It will bring her strength, at least."

His hands are shaky as he takes the flask from Finrod. He opens it and lifts her head gently, pouring the liquid down her throat.

"Come on, Syeira."

He drops the empty flask and clamps her mouth shut with a hand, so she's forced to swallow.

She's cool. Breathing is so difficult; an impossible chore. She hurts. It's a distant awareness, her mind is shutting down, but she knows she hurts.

The reality is, her leg is hideously broken, bleeding through ragged tooth marks big as hunting knives. And worse, her soul is weak. Syeira used all her strength to pull herself back, there's nothing left.

The liquid poured down her throat makes her cough. Alcohol, but with more than just fermentation as its kick. She swallows only so she can breath, and she comes to more awareness. Perhaps not the blessing they thought it would be.

She opens her eyes, and Arthur is the one who gets the rush of feelings. Relief they're all okay. Pain riding underneath that, voiced softly behind gritted teeth. And lastly, the hollow feeling of fear.

She's dying. And now she's awake enough to know it, to regret it, to be afraid, and to worry that they'll know she's afraid. Sorrow overrides everything then. She's failing them. She's failing Zhas, Coil, Beverly, Belthazar, all her friends, all the people she's responsible for. She looks from one face to another, tears pooling and running out the corners her eyes. She's so sorry.

Edited (Autocorrects) 2016-08-29 04:58 (UTC)

"Whatever you need me to do, cousin." Maglor gathers his own strength to come and kneel beside her. He can deal with his own guilt later.

"Syeira." He murmurs softly in low mourning.

"I am so sorry, little fire-hair."

"Hold on, Syeira. Just hold on." He tries to keep his voice steady for her, to hide his own fears. But his efforts fail when he turns to speak to Maglor, his voice rising to an unfamiliar frightened pitch.

"Call someone, if you can, and help me stop the bleeding, cousin. I don't-"

'I don't know what else to do.' He's failing her. He's failing her and he knows it.

"You truly are astounding, aren't you?" He looks back to Syeira, trying to keep talking- to say anything, just to keep her distracted. "Kind, clever, brave, and selfless too." He snorts, as if in laughter, but a few tears manage to escape his control and trickle down his cheek before he brushes them away with a sleeve. "Argue with me later. I insist."

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cw: language now because arthur is the normal one here

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Five million years later, I reply....

No worries, lets get to the good part ^_~

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