revivalproject | Open | My Oh My That Moon's A Fright

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Open | My Oh My That Moon's A Fright

WHO: Lark and You
WHERE: Temba Whale Comb Sent Her, Temba in general
WHAT: Storm affecting a mage by manifesting ghost-devils, and driving her magic wild
WHEN: During the storm
WARNINGS: First starter involves possible crushing/choking risks from magic gone wrong, or possible nudity (listen she's a thread mage), Second starter involves ghost-demons that will attempt to hunt people down.

I. Thread Magic Gone Wrong | CW: Magic might strangle/restrain/choke those approaching her wearing fabric, or may fall off a person completely

No amount of hiding from the storm could guarantee one would come out of it well. This was something Lark realized quite early on the first day. The fog was thick, almost magically so, not that she could sense it. Not that she could sense anything. All of her power had shuddered away from her when the fog had come, leaving Lark horribly nauseous and anxious. She had rarely felt so drained in her life, and she longed for the teas Rosethorn created that might soothe her.

Weak and tired as she was, Lark resolved she had to find something to soothe her belly. Mint collected from the greenhouse she thought as she looked out from the Whale Comb Sent Her and save the evening clear. The fog had retreated, and not thinking to look up, Lark resolved that she must seek supplies now if she was ever to find any. Tea leaves first, then perhaps she would try and set out for the ships.

So she slipped out into the night, not aware of the danger she was putting herself into as she strode out into the open night.

She didn't make it too far from the doors before it happened. A scream tearing through the air, the moon's call shaking through her and through the city. With it came Lark's magic in a rush, swelling within her in a tide she could not center and control, before it started screaming free of her, seeking threads and fibers and cloth around her to grab, to pull at.

Any fibers around her might easily be caught in this burst of raw magic, and oh but the horrid ways the pulling could go. Seams might give and clothes fall off from around the one wearing them, before the cloth and strings and fibers might try crawling toward Lark. Worse, though, might well be the threads that could not so easily pull themselves free, for those could quite easily contract, squeezing and constricting painfully around wherever they hang, as Lark's own habit did now. The green clad mage was soon screaming in pain as her own clothes started to constrict around her, crushing at her limbs and causing her to collapse.

II. The Ghost-Demons Are Real | CW: Chance of being hunted/attacked by a demon

There is quite a bit to be said for how unprepared Lark was for all of this. She'd heard talk of the storms of course, but the last two that had come she had found herself in Sh'Ka during. All she knew of them she had heard from others, and so it did not prepare her for what was coming now. A figure in the fog, a flash of green robe and crimson hair.

"Rosie?" Lark gasped, then gave chase after her. "Rosie, it's not safe outside!"

She followed the figure, and froze only when a flash of crimson light cut the air above her, lightning almost seeming to shriek. As the light faded the mist around her grew dark, swirling and shifting until it became quite like the form of a floating beast, eyes crimson, claws razor sharp, and oh but it reached for her.

"Yerui," she whispered, eyes wide as she started to back away. "Oh Mila, it can't be."

And with that she turned and ran blindly into the fog, intent on flight.

III. Tired But Sheltered

Hiding. She was hiding. Lark was very aware of this fact. Dealing with the Yerui, dealing with her magic gone wrong, it was all far too terrible. Lark, strong and experienced mage, Dedicate Initiate of the winding circle and thus in many ways priestess of a goddess, woman who had seen so many horrible things in her past, was hiding.

Cowering.

The very idea of it left a bad taste in her mouth, and Lark had to push it from her mind as she laid there in the Whale Comb Sent Her, trying to rest. Rest was not nearly so simple as it might have been, though.

"How long until this horror might pass," she asked of the room around her. "Oh Mila, let it not be long.

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Noctis was outside although he was on his way home. That damn moon thing again and it had him cover his ears. He didn't know what the hell was going on but he was trying to get home to Gladio and make sure he was okay.

But as he was on his way, he thought he saw a familiar figure and so he tried to approach, but Lark was running past him so he went to pursue.

"Lark? Wait! Where are you going?"

Radley remembers what he has been told of the storms and is concerned when he sees Lark slip out. He follows, but swiftly regrets it when her powers go berserk. He is not wearing his most favorite clothes, but he definitely isn't pleased when his T-shirt starts to come undone.

"What the ... ?!"

He grabs for it in frustrated bewilderment. Then he sees Lark collapse with a scream and his attention is elsewhere.

"Are you alright? We need to ... get back inside ..."

Now he's grabbing for his pants as well, his attention divided. This is the most bizarre thing that's ever happened to him, and that's saying a lot.

She would apologize for the thread misbehaving if it wasn't for the fact that the woman was in so much pain from it clenching her.

"Knife," she gasps out. Her magic has run away from her, she can't get the threads to stop constricting. She has to have them sundered. She has to be free.

"Away," she says, pausing only long enough to grab the man's hand to try and pull him with her. "Quickly. The Yerui is coming. I can't keep it away. We must hide."

Because it doesn't look like the man is wearing blue, so they can't keep it away at the moment.

Losing control of the Iron Man at consistently the most inconvenient time was unsustainable. A slower, less efficient Iron Man was still better than an entirely inert one just because it relied on its connection to Extremis. But it was slow--not in its propulsion, but in every command, the input, process, response time so sluggish to Tony that he was gritting his teeth in frustration as he navigated back into the city from the forge, and contemplated turning around to continue the work. Engrossed in the less intuitive flight, and in the possible avenues to shave time off of every input, he also didn't think to look over his shoulder at the looming moon.

It all happened at once. The shriek could have been the rending of metal as the Iron Man suddenly burst, clashing into itself, tearing away, crushing around Tony--every input happening concurrently as Extremis suddenly flared online. It could have been Tony himself, suddenly thrown into open air as the Iron Man was flung apart, thrown forward as his flight control was snatched away from him and crashing to the ground, abandoned by his own suit. He went skidding across the road, flailing to try to make any purchase and stop himself before his inevitable collision into an unforgiving wall. He slumped to a pained halt, panting in the dirt, listening to the plates of the Iron Man continue to bounce against the city, crash through windows, and disappear into the night.

The dust settled, and the nanoweb continued to slither chaotically around him, patterning his skin with gold that glinted in the cold moonlight as he gingerly pushed himself up. The screaming hadn't stopped, though. He took a breath, trying to listen over the ringing in his ears; a pained howl, not far away. He had to drag himself to his feet, balancing against the wall to try to gather momentum and start running, ignoring the blood and the road rash and the way the edges of his vision glowed. He ran, and then it was hard to stop as he came stumbling into the square, throwing himself back to the ground to crawl the rest of the way toward Lark, then freeze with both hands over her, searching in panic for the source of the pain. "Hey, hey, hey," he could hear himself saying as his hands moved like he could sense the problem through them, "talk to me, tell me what's happening."

What was happening might soon become apparent, as he clothing continued to shrink around her, clenching tighter and tighter. Her magic was flaring, rushing, burning out in a way that, as it was torn from her, might well kill her. If only she could get it to stop.

"Hurts," she sobs out, aware of someone there but not processing who it is. "Crushing. Help."

Radley manages to get his knife out and finally has to just ignore the clothing problem with himself. He stumbles over and reaches to cut the threads around Lark.

There is luck and poor fortune to be had here. The luck was that she wore only her green robe, which meant it didn't take too much effort to at least cut that enough for her to get some relief. The poor fortune was that the threads kept trying, and she was sobbing in pained frustration.

"Knock me out," she whispered. She didn't think she woudl need to be out long to interrupt the spell, but she needed it cut off. Now.

Radley stares at her. "What?!" He knows how to do it with pressure points, but he's never received such a request before.

"Spell," she panted out through her pain, "out of control. Could kill me."

Could kill a lot more than her if it went wide enough. That was, sadly, always the threat to mages like her.

"... Okay." Radley frowns. "This will hurt." He tries to reach through the insistent threads to press on the back of her neck. If it works, that should knock her out for a few minutes, at least.

Ah yes, that did work. It wasn't like Lark was an overly durable woman. She was older, and fit yes, but still just human. And soon she was unconscious. Which would give time for magic to melt away from her, the spell failing and all fibers around her relaxing.

OF course that meant she was unconscious on the street. That wasn't good in other ways. IT was a bit chilly out.

Radley sighs, relaxing as the threads stop struggling to have minds of their own. His clothes are hanging off of him in weird ways, and he has to take a moment to try to put the pants back together with the belt as best as he can so he won't trip walking. Then he reaches to gently pick her up and carry her back to shelter.

It's kind of him, and Lark starts to wake at some point while she's being carried. She looks so tired though.

"Thank you," she said as she processed what was happening. "I am sorry. My magic got away from me when the moon screamed."

"Yeah, I heard about the ... screaming moon," Radley frowns. "That is out there. It's probably not safe to go out at all as long as the moon's up. Are you okay?"

"I fear I am weak," she admitted, and her voice definitely underlined that. "A mage's magic is tied to their lifeforce, and I burned much of it accidentally."

And so she was not doing very well at all.

"... Is there anything I can do?" Radley asked. "Would the hospital be able to help?"

"I do not know," she admits. "I need... I need food. And mint tea. And rest."

But she doesn't know that she can get any of them.

"Might I know your name?"

"... The shelter probably has food and tea," Radley said. "We'll just keep heading there, since it's closer."

He smiled a bit. "I'm Radley."

Well, there is that.

"I am Lark," she said, her voice still so very weak. "And I thank you, Radley, for help."

"Sure," Radley said.

He got them back to the Sent Her and laid Lark on a couch. No one seemed to be around right there, so he started going through shelves and boxes himself.

"What kind of food do you like?"

Ah, that was a comfort. Lark sighed in relief.

"I have never been picky. I used to be a traveling performer. You learn to eat any and all."

Radley smirked a bit. "That works. Me, I like most foods. Can't eat grapes, though." He found some crackers and cheese. "You can have these while I make something more substantial." He held them out.

"Thank you," she said, working to sit up and take the offerings. "How long was I unconscious?"

Because there was data one needed to process the night.

Radley nodded and went to work at the kitchenette. "Not too long. Maybe ten minutes?" He started making some omelettes.

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Open | My Oh My That Moon's A Fright

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