[The big cities vanished three months ago, the forest grew into the gaps nearly as long ago, the gods haven't made even a peep... and here's Stocke: poking around the woods because hell if he's got anything better to do.]
[With the Nest and the rest of its residents gone, he's been getting worse and worse about keeping in contact with any remaining monsters. That said, he still hears things every once in a while - and apparently there's a small village of humans in this part of the woods that straight-up vanished overnight. Could be a monster going hungry too long, could just be the woods themselves; they're hardly empty of hazards these days. But Stocke can't resist going to investigate. What if it's whatever disappeared everything else?]
[So far he's found nothing but an excess of will-o-wisps. Stocke's not quite at the point of following them - they're not leading toward the village's reported location, anyway - but the tiny pinpricks of light keep hovering tantalizingly just at the corners of his eyes. It's throwing him off enough that it takes the shade a minute or two to realize there's an odd feeling in the air. And... the forest's dead silent, none of the quiet ambiance of leaves rustling or buzzing insects.]
[Stocke freezes, a dark black outline with four glowing eyes; then his tendrils bristle from his back. He lets out a soft, static hiss as a warning.]
Zel's lighting spell, frustratingly weak though it was, might've drawn him some more trouble if that sound's meant for him. he bites on the inside of his lip and slowly shifts his weight before stepping backward, feeling behind himself for a tree to position against. no surprises from behind, at least. he hopes.
he's been wandering this wooded maze for more than an hour after having woken up without the familiarity of his campsite...or the familiarity of being the chimera he ought to be. blue? yes (probably; it's dark). stone? nope (he had to scratch his hand on a bramble and bleed to realize that part). pointy ears? yeah. wire head? no.
either he's stumbled close to some semblance of a cure or someone's messing with him. it tends to be the latter, and honestly? that thought is really souring his mood. whatever fresh surprise is looming nearby better be ready to cater to a long list of wants to apologize for this.
Zel scowls and squints, forcing his weakened night eyes to trace out the shapes of bramble and bush in search of a threat. it could just be a wild animal, and in that case...he'll need to use that lighting spell a bit dramatically to be worth a damn in scaring it off.]
[Stocke, on the other hand, can see conveniently well in the dark! He twists on the suddenly-vanishing light, eyes narrowing to thin glowing lines. What...]
[Or maybe it's 'who.']
[Stocke doesn't recognize Zel at all for the first few seconds - they'd been human for only a short month, and he's used to remembering fish scales. He's still as the stiff branches around him, thinking only: a human. Good, he won't have to worry about feeding for another week, and maybe they'll have answers for him -]
[Then it clicks. The shade's static noise ratchets up a notch, spreading until it sounds like it's emanating from the woods surrounding instead of one spot. He stalks forward to loom over Zel, all pitch-black bones and sharp limbs; in a voice rusty with disuse, he demands,] Who are you?
[An imposter. Has to be: nobody new's shown up for ages. But who would know?]
[he was almost ready to assume the sound was his imagination for the dead quiet that followed (even the insects seem to have quieted). but that horrid static ramped up, closer than before, and in that fast head swivel Zel's vision of those dull forest shapes was interrupted by something new and immediately menacing.
his heart jumps straight to his throat, and in that same beat his hand snatches and yanks at the hilt of his sword, drawing steel partway as his back presses against bark. maybe pinning myself was a bad idea.
not the right time to worry about hindsight; Zel tenses up as his eyes start to translate the looming shape and it-- what is--?]
Don't come clo--!!
[words pierced through the static, causing goosebumps on Zel's neck. his jaw clamps shut, lips curled back in an instinctive snarl. he doesn't know this shape, this voice, but he sure does know the situation. it almost sounds the way the monster Zeygram did, but crackled through a broken speaker.
monsters, is it? that's familiar.
his grip tightens on the hilt, and he gulps, forcing his voice out:]
Nobody you want to mess with, that's for sure. Back off! I have astral magic, so your monster hide doesn't mean a damn thing to me.
And your human hide means even less to me, [Stocke crackles, tendrils lashing. Some of them twist fluidly into other forms - a bristling group of claws, a mangled-looking feathery wing, a mantis-like arm - and flow back just as quickly.]
[(Is the imposter human? Probably not, come to think of it. But it makes no difference.)]
[A crack of light starts showing in the general area of where his mouth... should be. And down the sides of his neck. It's jagged, vaguely reminiscent of teeth.] Why are you taking Zelgadis' form?
[this guy...he doesn't even look all solid, like he's floating partway in the astral plane. that-- that may be a problem. it'll make for some really annoying--
wait--]
What? [the sound of his own name makes him lose all intimidating snarls and glares in exchange for a wide-eyed, confused blink. his eyes quickly narrow in recovery, however, bristling.] What do you mean, 'taking Zelgadis' form'? I am him! [the sword drawn, he points it at the monster, twitching slightly when the fluid movements of tendrils get too close for comfort.]
Don't think I have time for games! Who said you could know who I am?
[Let's be honest here: only Zel could've said 'Who said you could know who I am?' in that exact offended tone.]
[...Zel or a much better imposter than was expected.]
[Stocke leans over Zelgadis for another second or so, utterly silent, his tendrils slowing to a near crawl. His eyes flicker an odd, noise-filled pattern. Then he straightens to his full shadely height - something like a stupid eight and a half feet - and takes a single long step back. Smoke peels away to leave a more condensed (and colourful) figure.]
[The shade's tendrils twitch; it's been long enough since he last shapeshifted to this form that it feels strange. Constrained, but... not uncomfortable. Like putting on an old, ratty t-shirt you used to love.]
That sword's not going to do much to a shade, [he says, flat; still, there's something wary in his eyes.]
[in the span of that uneasy quiet the monster was taking advantage of, Zel was immediately aware of how uncool he's being in this situation, and it's starting to rapidly agitate him. but hey, in the dark, no one can see you flush with embarrassment.
speaking of dark, it's becoming a problem. something's happening -- changing. there's no color he can grab onto to help fill in these blanks, and there's...something going on here. this monster is too comfortable. this is getting into Xellos territory.
Zel's not taking the advice of a-- shade? (that's another thing starting to really gnaw at him; he's missing something he ought to know) -- his sword remains level enough, while his other hand lifts.
his wisp -- the little lighting spell -- flickers and flashes back to life to give him the chance to glimpse red...and distinctly-cut sleeves.]
[Stocke hisses under his breath, lifting an arm to squint through the fingers; it's not that the wisp is really all that bright, but his eyes adapt much faster to dark than light. He drops it a second later, watching Zel steadily. Suspiciously?]
[Stocke just doesn't trust this peninsula to spit Zel back out again a year later, suddenly human(? what's with those ears?) again. Especially when the fog god's cut off dragging in groups on her usual schedule - forget specific individuals. That doesn't happen.]
[At the same time, if there's any motive another shapeshifter would have here, Stocke can't think of it. He's not self-centered enough to decide it's for his sake.]
[there's a flickering of panic that makes its way into Zel's eyes once enough of those jagged puzzle pieces of shape and color start to snap together, because he's suddenly aware this is something he ought to know.]
Stocke.
[he looks surprised to have said anything, because the sound left him without thinking. but recollection follows quickly, giving him cause to shudder and shift backward against the tree.
his sword arm goes slack, letting the blade scrape the ground.
how did he only just remember? Zel's head shakes a little, looking Stocke up and down, because yes, absolutely. this is someone he knows. how he knows is only just starting to settle in, like shapes appearing out of a fog, fittingly enough.]
A while? How long is that? [grimacing.] This can't be right...
[Stocke's gaze jerks to the side to follow the sword dropping, then back to Zel's face. He almost takes a step forward - stopping himself when his foot's already lifting to rock back in place instead. Everyone he knows has been gone for... this can't be right.]
[The shade hesitates - then catches his thoughts going in circles again. He grits his teeth silently; this is going nowhere.]
[Fine, then, how about this: he'll pretend he's sure this is Zel until something proves it one way or the other. If it is him, it's all for the good. If it's not - whoever it is, whatever their reason is, Stocke'll kill ̴t́h̶em —-]
[His eyes flaring brighter with the decision made, the shade relaxes.]
[It was... sometime in summer he last saw Zel, he thinks. There's been another summer since, and he's felt the days getting longer, chill setting in more day by day. So...] Five seasons, [Stocke guesses quietly.]
[Nobody said he's as good at keeping track of days as the narration is.]
[This time the shade does step closer, concerned - there's a soft rustle of fallen leaves and branches under his foot that he doesn't bother to muffle.]
[he kind of hoped that a time stamp would've made this make more sense, but...no. it's even worse. more than a year? that can't be right. and besides, Stocke? and the-- beach and the rickety old house and all those things he's starting to recall...
he thought he made those up. they only visited in dreams, after all, and just fragments. they never fit anywhere in the proper course of his life, even when Lina and Amelia and Gourry appeared now and then in there.
fresh, hot guilt creeps up his neck and into his face, all the way to the tips of his ears. Zel swallows hard, shaking his head, the rest of him wavering a bit in turn.]
N-no, no, that doesn't make sense... I thought-- [he bites back on that, noticing Stocke drawing closer.
maybe not the best idea to tell someone you'd been pretty sure he was a figment of your imagination for a while.
Zel exhales loudly through his nose, using time to put the sword away as an excuse to be quiet and try to think. not much time there, though.]
I guess... [the beach, a town... 'what to do when you start growing new limbs (and other monstrous maladies' - a helpful guide...by Amelia?] I guess that explains this... [his hand goes to his chin, a finger curling where rocks used to be.] Or...not, not entirely. [he shoots Stocke a questioning side-eye.] Because there's never been any straight answers, right.
[Stocke, of course, goes totally off on the wrong track and guesses Zel's talking about his lack of scales. Somehow, his answer ends up mostly-comprehensible anyway:] No. The peninsula's never been forthcoming. But if I had to guess... [He tilts his head toward Zel.] Something - broke down late in summer. The fog god's not shown herself since. Her roots have been shaken. [So she's only managed half a transformation.]
[Barely two seconds after Stocke says 'shaken,' the other wisps in the forest around them jitter in place - and snuff out, all but Zel's spell. The shade stiffens.]
[Then he's crackling into a real shade's form again, curving down from his full height as if bristling like a cat. His claws curve out.]
[At least this time he's not threatening Zel? He is watching the forest with the same intensity he turned on the ex-chimera earlier.]
[Zel snorts softly at the sound of fog god, even as Stocke goes on. fog god? fog spirit, sure, but fog god? sounds so stupid.
...huh. how nostalgic-feeling; he must've thought similarly before. back when he...was here? dreamed this place?
is he dreaming?]
Eh-? [Stocke's sudden shift catches him off-guard, throws him out of his train of thought, and makes his head snap up and start to swivel, searching for the problem.] What now--
Not sure, [Stocke answers shortly. Amends,] Something else in here with us. [Has to be - there was a mind behind those will-o-wisps, right?]
[Nothing happens for a long few seconds. Stocke's eyes remain narrowed, but he straightens up to... accidentally loom again. His gaze flickers from side to side.]
[Very quietly, he explains,] There's a human village not far from here. A week and a half ago, the messenger who runs out between it and the next returned saying the place was abandoned. If they didn't just leave on a whim... [Unlikely, to say the least - then, well, there's a good reason to be wary of any weird magic.]
[Not that this is necessarily whatever made the humans disappear. Who knows, maybe there's two weird things going on in this neck of the woods!]
...Then something else might've taken up residence. [yeah. sounds about right. that's at least familiar territory for Zel and the gang.
he puffs out a breath, hesitating before letting himself admit:] My magic's not at a hundred percent, but-- [he frowns, starting to realize something.] But I don't think that's supposed to be surprising.
Whatever the case, I'd rather avoid a fight until I can pick ones I know I can win.
More surprising you have any. [Stocke won't question their blessings, though. ...on second thought, maybe that's a bad idea. He should absolutely question them.]
[With nothing happening, the shade's starting to grow restless; he'd prowl toward where he assumes the threat is, only he's got no such assumptions to fall back on. The wisps vanished from no particular direction. At a loss, he drifts out of the faint circle of light Zel's spell is giving off -]
[The ground rumbles, and the tree at Zel's back shifts. The roots start to pull free, as if being yanked on from above.]
[Stocke spins back around, his eyes widening, and looks up. And up, and up - it's Prophet-damned hard to see through the fog, but it stretches far taller than any tree should, and he's certain it wasn't that way before. It bends, somewhere almost misted out of sight: Stocke has a moment to think, incredulously, a leg?]
Move! [He hisses at Zel. If it's not responded to fast enough (read: within the second) the shade'll dive at Zel to possess him, unhesitating.]
[Zel's fortunate to have not only good hearing, but a good case of the magical heebie-jeebies to startle him enough to turn partway to the sight of moving timber.
he spins on a heel and hops backward, his neck craning up and trying to take in some sense of scope and scale to whatever's using a tree as a toy here. if that thing get's dropped on him, he's not going to be nearly as alive and unharmed as he would if he were still stone...
time to fly.]
Rayw--IIIIIEEE-- [the woosh of SOMETHING sends such a bracing chill up his spine and through his body that he can't move, can't finish that flight spell. there is no fly, only undignified squeal.]
[The biggest difference between this time and the last Stocke possessed Zel: he's had far, far more experience. Zel's not quite the soulless husks Stocke usually uses, but all that means is he has to reduce his control to only what limbs he needs rather than everything.]
[Stocke flips them away, ignoring Zel's squeal. Over hands - a shove of telekinesis to keep the motion fluid even without a shade's usual advantages - and landing on all fours, then unfolding upright to keep backing away.]
[The tree slams down, deliberate. Not like a drop, but... a footstep...]
[A second tree rumbles. The ground underneath the first sinks slightly under the weight, now that it's without the support of roots.]
[Stocke uses Zel's eyes to look up again. With a bit of distance he's taken, it's possible to make out a fuzzy shape through the fog - humanoid, presumably all wooden. Towering.]
[there's no time to let nostalgia sink in and remind Zel this is not uncommon; he's too busy panicking over the loss of control. it's not utter -- efforts to flail an arm sync up with Stocke's shift of focus on a leg, or he can get his head to turn partway before it's forced another--]
D-Dammit, no! [this is madness! his jaw clenches shut as he sucks in a breath, willfully fighting the tilt of his head and shifting gaze -- even if it is kind of what he ought to be looking at anyway.
does he have to yell at himself to get control back? and where's Stocke, anyway? he's--
oh.] Yyyou stupid-- [he does a kind of snarling huff in exasperation, then starts yelling anyway:] I'm just going to get-- [he clenches a fist.] crushed down here if I can't get any distance! Let-- Let me go! Let-!
[For a moment Stocke nearly does; he hesitates and starts to pull back. Then, jitteringly, he thinks 'last time I left' -]
[There's a violent crash of panic, a crackling squeal strong enough even, maybe, for Zel to feel. Either way Stocke yanks back his grip on the chains. Pulling Zel's voice into a cold, steady tone entirely at odds with the lingering remnants of that static:] No.
[He won't let Zel be harmed. But he knows, he knows with a deathly, clinging dread that if he doesn't handle this himself something will go wrong -]
[The shade ducks around a tree, lets the second foot stomp down where he just was. He hisses softly through Zel's teeth; possessing someone else's eyes, he can't see near so well in the dark. Still, he listens for the crunch of broken leaves and branches and makes a break for it, ducking between the behemoth's legs.]
[The thing pauses - it's easy to imagine its head spinning, way up in the fog. Slowly it starts to turn around...]
[Suddenly the vanished wisps flare up again, this time in a clear line. Stocke's control stutters for a moment - then he takes off running, following them. He'll worry about where the light is leading them later.]
[with a colossus sprung to life, with foliage bending and crashing all about, there's little time to stop and really think about any one thing, especially with adrenaline screaming go go GO in congruence and protest at every move made. things get very primal when the sense of danger spikes.
honestly? Zel can thrive in these kinds of intense situations -- he's a warrior, a sorcerer. he's stood his ground against literal gods and survived, toyed with powers greater than himself, endured extremes that would've killed most.
and yet those qualities of his, his experience...it means nothing when his own voice is wrapped in a foreign static, prickling at his throat in a chilling way. just like that, the fight Zel was putting up dropped almost utterly as he was gripped by the horror of his own voice being hijacked.
this? this is not right. this is not okay. this is-- this is Rezo's staff chiming, forcing his body into submission, clouding his consciousness hot and red -- but black and cold, instead. nobody has control of the wave of nausea and the uncomfortable chill making his limbs feel less solid, as if his bones are dissolving. Zel can't control being terrified any more than he can control his own legs chasing after little specks of light that seem the only thing stable as the ground shudders with another tremendous tremor.
Don't, he thinks, small, bewildered. Don't do that--]
[Stocke isn't at all privy to Zel's horror - it's that or he doesn't care, which is arguably far worse. He keeps moving at a sprint; a duck under a low-hanging branch, a dodge around a dangling wall of moss, a vault over a tree root... will-o-wisps snuff out as Zel's body passes, pitching the forest behind them into darkness.]
[This route is one far more tangled than Stocke'd have chosen himself, but he doesn't have much choice if he wants to keep them moving at this speed. Apparently it's also convoluted enough that the behemoth following them starts to lose track and fall behind - still, the shade doesn't even think about slowing until the shaking under their feet grows faint.]
[By this point the ground is wet and yielding under Zel's feet, the trees wide-rooted and gloomy. They've moved from forest into swamp. Stocke's controlled steps brake to a brisk walk; he raises Zel's arm to block a spiderweb from their eyes and turns to squint backwards, see if he can still make out their pursuer.]
[So he's entirely unprepared when walking through the spiderweb flings him violently free of Zel's body. The shade drops head-over-heels into the water with a startled static burst - Zel, meanwhile, probably finds himself tearing spider-silk with a bit less momentum.]
Nya--ghth! Pth! Pah! [spider silk. in mouth. nasty. the full-on, heebie-jeebie-based flailing becomes more indicative of control, and Zel's flailing suddenly becomes coordinated with a few fast backsteps.
breathing heavily from the run and adrenaline still searching for an out, Zel's backpedaling slows as his eyes grow wider and more alert, searching out the shape sloshing in the muck ahead.]
You-- [he sees the hint of those stupid sleeves. incensed, it's now time for indignant outrage:] WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU!?
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makehistoria) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
risingstones2016-06-25 07:30 pm
no subject
[With the Nest and the rest of its residents gone, he's been getting worse and worse about keeping in contact with any remaining monsters. That said, he still hears things every once in a while - and apparently there's a small village of humans in this part of the woods that straight-up vanished overnight. Could be a monster going hungry too long, could just be the woods themselves; they're hardly empty of hazards these days. But Stocke can't resist going to investigate. What if it's whatever disappeared everything else?]
[So far he's found nothing but an excess of will-o-wisps. Stocke's not quite at the point of following them - they're not leading toward the village's reported location, anyway - but the tiny pinpricks of light keep hovering tantalizingly just at the corners of his eyes. It's throwing him off enough that it takes the shade a minute or two to realize there's an odd feeling in the air. And... the forest's dead silent, none of the quiet ambiance of leaves rustling or buzzing insects.]
[Stocke freezes, a dark black outline with four glowing eyes; then his tendrils bristle from his back. He lets out a soft, static hiss as a warning.]
no subject
Zel's lighting spell, frustratingly weak though it was, might've drawn him some more trouble if that sound's meant for him. he bites on the inside of his lip and slowly shifts his weight before stepping backward, feeling behind himself for a tree to position against. no surprises from behind, at least. he hopes.
he's been wandering this wooded maze for more than an hour after having woken up without the familiarity of his campsite...or the familiarity of being the chimera he ought to be. blue? yes (probably; it's dark). stone? nope (he had to scratch his hand on a bramble and bleed to realize that part). pointy ears? yeah. wire head? no.
either he's stumbled close to some semblance of a cure or someone's messing with him. it tends to be the latter, and honestly? that thought is really souring his mood. whatever fresh surprise is looming nearby better be ready to cater to a long list of wants to apologize for this.
Zel scowls and squints, forcing his weakened night eyes to trace out the shapes of bramble and bush in search of a threat. it could just be a wild animal, and in that case...he'll need to use that lighting spell a bit dramatically to be worth a damn in scaring it off.]
no subject
[Or maybe it's 'who.']
[Stocke doesn't recognize Zel at all for the first few seconds - they'd been human for only a short month, and he's used to remembering fish scales. He's still as the stiff branches around him, thinking only: a human. Good, he won't have to worry about feeding for another week, and maybe they'll have answers for him -]
[Then it clicks. The shade's static noise ratchets up a notch, spreading until it sounds like it's emanating from the woods surrounding instead of one spot. He stalks forward to loom over Zel, all pitch-black bones and sharp limbs; in a voice rusty with disuse, he demands,] Who are you?
[An imposter. Has to be: nobody new's shown up for ages. But who would know?]
no subject
his heart jumps straight to his throat, and in that same beat his hand snatches and yanks at the hilt of his sword, drawing steel partway as his back presses against bark. maybe pinning myself was a bad idea.
not the right time to worry about hindsight; Zel tenses up as his eyes start to translate the looming shape and it-- what is--?]
Don't come clo--!!
[words pierced through the static, causing goosebumps on Zel's neck. his jaw clamps shut, lips curled back in an instinctive snarl. he doesn't know this shape, this voice, but he sure does know the situation. it almost sounds the way the monster Zeygram did, but crackled through a broken speaker.
monsters, is it? that's familiar.
his grip tightens on the hilt, and he gulps, forcing his voice out:]
Nobody you want to mess with, that's for sure. Back off! I have astral magic, so your monster hide doesn't mean a damn thing to me.
no subject
[(Is the imposter human? Probably not, come to think of it. But it makes no difference.)]
[A crack of light starts showing in the general area of where his mouth... should be. And down the sides of his neck. It's jagged, vaguely reminiscent of teeth.] Why are you taking Zelgadis' form?
no subject
wait--]
What? [the sound of his own name makes him lose all intimidating snarls and glares in exchange for a wide-eyed, confused blink. his eyes quickly narrow in recovery, however, bristling.] What do you mean, 'taking Zelgadis' form'? I am him! [the sword drawn, he points it at the monster, twitching slightly when the fluid movements of tendrils get too close for comfort.]
Don't think I have time for games! Who said you could know who I am?
no subject
[...Zel or a much better imposter than was expected.]
[Stocke leans over Zelgadis for another second or so, utterly silent, his tendrils slowing to a near crawl. His eyes flicker an odd, noise-filled pattern. Then he straightens to his full shadely height - something like a stupid eight and a half feet - and takes a single long step back. Smoke peels away to leave a more condensed (and colourful) figure.]
[The shade's tendrils twitch; it's been long enough since he last shapeshifted to this form that it feels strange. Constrained, but... not uncomfortable. Like putting on an old, ratty t-shirt you used to love.]
That sword's not going to do much to a shade, [he says, flat; still, there's something wary in his eyes.]
no subject
speaking of dark, it's becoming a problem. something's happening -- changing. there's no color he can grab onto to help fill in these blanks, and there's...something going on here. this monster is too comfortable. this is getting into Xellos territory.
Zel's not taking the advice of a-- shade? (that's another thing starting to really gnaw at him; he's missing something he ought to know) -- his sword remains level enough, while his other hand lifts.
his wisp -- the little lighting spell -- flickers and flashes back to life to give him the chance to glimpse red...and distinctly-cut sleeves.]
no subject
[Stocke just doesn't trust this peninsula to spit Zel back out again a year later, suddenly human(? what's with those ears?) again. Especially when the fog god's cut off dragging in groups on her usual schedule - forget specific individuals. That doesn't happen.]
[At the same time, if there's any motive another shapeshifter would have here, Stocke can't think of it. He's not self-centered enough to decide it's for his sake.]
...been a while, [he says finally.]
no subject
[there's a flickering of panic that makes its way into Zel's eyes once enough of those jagged puzzle pieces of shape and color start to snap together, because he's suddenly aware this is something he ought to know.]
Stocke.
[he looks surprised to have said anything, because the sound left him without thinking. but recollection follows quickly, giving him cause to shudder and shift backward against the tree.
his sword arm goes slack, letting the blade scrape the ground.
how did he only just remember? Zel's head shakes a little, looking Stocke up and down, because yes, absolutely. this is someone he knows. how he knows is only just starting to settle in, like shapes appearing out of a fog, fittingly enough.]
A while? How long is that? [grimacing.] This can't be right...
[1/2] abuses all my new icons
[The shade hesitates - then catches his thoughts going in circles again. He grits his teeth silently; this is going nowhere.]
[Fine, then, how about this: he'll pretend he's sure this is Zel until something proves it one way or the other. If it is him, it's all for the good. If it's not - whoever it is, whatever their reason is, Stocke'll kill ̴t́h̶em —-]
[2/2]
[It was... sometime in summer he last saw Zel, he thinks. There's been another summer since, and he's felt the days getting longer, chill setting in more day by day. So...] Five seasons, [Stocke guesses quietly.]
[Nobody said he's as good at keeping track of days as the narration is.]
[This time the shade does step closer, concerned - there's a soft rustle of fallen leaves and branches under his foot that he doesn't bother to muffle.]
no subject
he thought he made those up. they only visited in dreams, after all, and just fragments. they never fit anywhere in the proper course of his life, even when Lina and Amelia and Gourry appeared now and then in there.
fresh, hot guilt creeps up his neck and into his face, all the way to the tips of his ears. Zel swallows hard, shaking his head, the rest of him wavering a bit in turn.]
N-no, no, that doesn't make sense... I thought-- [he bites back on that, noticing Stocke drawing closer.
maybe not the best idea to tell someone you'd been pretty sure he was a figment of your imagination for a while.
Zel exhales loudly through his nose, using time to put the sword away as an excuse to be quiet and try to think. not much time there, though.]
I guess... [the beach, a town... 'what to do when you start growing new limbs (and other monstrous maladies' - a helpful guide...by Amelia?] I guess that explains this... [his hand goes to his chin, a finger curling where rocks used to be.] Or...not, not entirely. [he shoots Stocke a questioning side-eye.] Because there's never been any straight answers, right.
no subject
[Barely two seconds after Stocke says 'shaken,' the other wisps in the forest around them jitter in place - and snuff out, all but Zel's spell. The shade stiffens.]
[Then he's crackling into a real shade's form again, curving down from his full height as if bristling like a cat. His claws curve out.]
[At least this time he's not threatening Zel? He is watching the forest with the same intensity he turned on the ex-chimera earlier.]
no subject
...huh. how nostalgic-feeling; he must've thought similarly before. back when he...was here? dreamed this place?
is he dreaming?]
Eh-? [Stocke's sudden shift catches him off-guard, throws him out of his train of thought, and makes his head snap up and start to swivel, searching for the problem.] What now--
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[Nothing happens for a long few seconds. Stocke's eyes remain narrowed, but he straightens up to... accidentally loom again. His gaze flickers from side to side.]
[Very quietly, he explains,] There's a human village not far from here. A week and a half ago, the messenger who runs out between it and the next returned saying the place was abandoned. If they didn't just leave on a whim... [Unlikely, to say the least - then, well, there's a good reason to be wary of any weird magic.]
[Not that this is necessarily whatever made the humans disappear. Who knows, maybe there's two weird things going on in this neck of the woods!]
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he puffs out a breath, hesitating before letting himself admit:] My magic's not at a hundred percent, but-- [he frowns, starting to realize something.] But I don't think that's supposed to be surprising.
Whatever the case, I'd rather avoid a fight until I can pick ones I know I can win.
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[With nothing happening, the shade's starting to grow restless; he'd prowl toward where he assumes the threat is, only he's got no such assumptions to fall back on. The wisps vanished from no particular direction. At a loss, he drifts out of the faint circle of light Zel's spell is giving off -]
[The ground rumbles, and the tree at Zel's back shifts. The roots start to pull free, as if being yanked on from above.]
[Stocke spins back around, his eyes widening, and looks up. And up, and up - it's Prophet-damned hard to see through the fog, but it stretches far taller than any tree should, and he's certain it wasn't that way before. It bends, somewhere almost misted out of sight: Stocke has a moment to think, incredulously, a leg?]
Move! [He hisses at Zel. If it's not responded to fast enough (read: within the second) the shade'll dive at Zel to possess him, unhesitating.]
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he spins on a heel and hops backward, his neck craning up and trying to take in some sense of scope and scale to whatever's using a tree as a toy here. if that thing get's dropped on him, he's not going to be nearly as alive and unharmed as he would if he were still stone...
time to fly.]
Rayw--IIIIIEEE-- [the woosh of SOMETHING sends such a bracing chill up his spine and through his body that he can't move, can't finish that flight spell. there is no fly, only undignified squeal.]
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[Stocke flips them away, ignoring Zel's squeal. Over hands - a shove of telekinesis to keep the motion fluid even without a shade's usual advantages - and landing on all fours, then unfolding upright to keep backing away.]
[The tree slams down, deliberate. Not like a drop, but... a footstep...]
[A second tree rumbles. The ground underneath the first sinks slightly under the weight, now that it's without the support of roots.]
[Stocke uses Zel's eyes to look up again. With a bit of distance he's taken, it's possible to make out a fuzzy shape through the fog - humanoid, presumably all wooden. Towering.]
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D-Dammit, no! [this is madness! his jaw clenches shut as he sucks in a breath, willfully fighting the tilt of his head and shifting gaze -- even if it is kind of what he ought to be looking at anyway.
does he have to yell at himself to get control back? and where's Stocke, anyway? he's--
oh.] Yyyou stupid-- [he does a kind of snarling huff in exasperation, then starts yelling anyway:] I'm just going to get-- [he clenches a fist.] crushed down here if I can't get any distance! Let-- Let me go! Let-!
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[There's a violent crash of panic, a crackling squeal strong enough even, maybe, for Zel to feel. Either way Stocke yanks back his grip on the chains. Pulling Zel's voice into a cold, steady tone entirely at odds with the lingering remnants of that static:] No.
[He won't let Zel be harmed. But he knows, he knows with a deathly, clinging dread that if he doesn't handle this himself something will go wrong -]
[The shade ducks around a tree, lets the second foot stomp down where he just was. He hisses softly through Zel's teeth; possessing someone else's eyes, he can't see near so well in the dark. Still, he listens for the crunch of broken leaves and branches and makes a break for it, ducking between the behemoth's legs.]
[The thing pauses - it's easy to imagine its head spinning, way up in the fog. Slowly it starts to turn around...]
[Suddenly the vanished wisps flare up again, this time in a clear line. Stocke's control stutters for a moment - then he takes off running, following them. He'll worry about where the light is leading them later.]
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honestly? Zel can thrive in these kinds of intense situations -- he's a warrior, a sorcerer. he's stood his ground against literal gods and survived, toyed with powers greater than himself, endured extremes that would've killed most.
and yet those qualities of his, his experience...it means nothing when his own voice is wrapped in a foreign static, prickling at his throat in a chilling way. just like that, the fight Zel was putting up dropped almost utterly as he was gripped by the horror of his own voice being hijacked.
this? this is not right. this is not okay. this is-- this is Rezo's staff chiming, forcing his body into submission, clouding his consciousness hot and red -- but black and cold, instead. nobody has control of the wave of nausea and the uncomfortable chill making his limbs feel less solid, as if his bones are dissolving. Zel can't control being terrified any more than he can control his own legs chasing after little specks of light that seem the only thing stable as the ground shudders with another tremendous tremor.
Don't, he thinks, small, bewildered. Don't do that--]
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[This route is one far more tangled than Stocke'd have chosen himself, but he doesn't have much choice if he wants to keep them moving at this speed. Apparently it's also convoluted enough that the behemoth following them starts to lose track and fall behind - still, the shade doesn't even think about slowing until the shaking under their feet grows faint.]
[By this point the ground is wet and yielding under Zel's feet, the trees wide-rooted and gloomy. They've moved from forest into swamp. Stocke's controlled steps brake to a brisk walk; he raises Zel's arm to block a spiderweb from their eyes and turns to squint backwards, see if he can still make out their pursuer.]
[So he's entirely unprepared when walking through the spiderweb flings him violently free of Zel's body. The shade drops head-over-heels into the water with a startled static burst - Zel, meanwhile, probably finds himself tearing spider-silk with a bit less momentum.]
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breathing heavily from the run and adrenaline still searching for an out, Zel's backpedaling slows as his eyes grow wider and more alert, searching out the shape sloshing in the muck ahead.]
You-- [he sees the hint of those stupid sleeves. incensed, it's now time for indignant outrage:] WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU!?
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I LIVE
SO DO I...FORGIVE ME....
look it's ok we'll just trade off taking a couple days apparently, it's cool
"couple days" means "weeks" right bc i am a disgrace
shhh
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crane girl: goes from 0 to 500 real fast
spoilers she's a hedgehog
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timeskip it is (with me taking an appropriately long time to match, apparently OTL)
it's good we good everybody's good
goes full out sith lord-dementor... something
aniki i dont like ur star war potter cosplay
I'M ALIVE and i got your card ;v;;; i'll have one on the way to you in return soon
merr crimmas more suffering