morally dubious dirt man ๐ weir dredger (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fossick) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
finalflight2023-06-26 11:54 am
fossick) wrote in finalflight2023-06-26 11:54 amEntry tags:
fossick) wrote in finalflight2023-06-26 11:54 am
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Then you best hold on.
[Otherwise, she might topple off, and surely she doesn't want that.
He nudges hard at the mare's flank with a bootheel and the horse begins a canter down the path. Daylight isn't completely gone, but it is flagging, casting amber ropes of light down through the treetops above as they follow the path for a bit.]
We'll be heading further in than last time.
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[Lucinda lets her friends theorize amongst themselves. She focuses on holding onto Weir as the mare takes them down the path and further in than before.]
Not for picking herbs, I imagine?
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No. Not this time.
[Lucinda's ghost friends are right to wonder, to talk amongst themselves. Weir has not been the most straightforwardโand likely after their last venture in the forest, the most trustworthyโman with her thus far, at least not where it matters. And he does not intend for that to change oh-so-quickly, with this single jaunt farther and deeper into the woods than before.
Yet to his credit, instead of riding on in silence, he does offer a small excuse for an explanation.]
You talked about overturning stones, didnโt you? Consider this your opportunity. This village is indeed more than what it seems, though not because of any wandering, restless spirits. Or a dearth of them.
Thereโs an entire world beneath the surface that you've come to know.
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[Her responses are noncommittal because she's trying to get a read on where this is going. She's in her assessing state of mind, trying to predict where this is going to land her and what Weir's intentions are.]
I believe I did say before that I wasn't going to overturn any stones on purpose.
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At some point, he slows the mare down and leads them off the route slightly, into the gnarled leaf-laden duff.]
And did I accuse you of that, precisely? Here I thought you might be compelled to learn more.
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It's in the way you act Weir. Ever since you asked me what I thought about the Vale.
[She leaves it at that. Flora stirs around her chest and Feather rustles under her skin. Fang waits. Fang is always ready. If there is one thing she is certain about, it's that the forest may not try to dig into her heart again. Though she has other types of pain she's experienced, what they saw previously was the hurt that affected her most.
Everything else that happened after that, well, she grew steelier from each and every consequent trial.]
Have you gone this far yourself yet? Or are we experimenting?
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Why? Are you worried?
[Itโs a thick part of the forest, so many trees to the point where it seems like moving forward with a horse will become impractical. He eases the mare to a stop and dismounts, then works to loop the reins around the branches of a tree.]
Iโve trodden down this path more than once before. As I said: I want to show you something.
[He assumes she can get off the horse herself.]
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[Sardonic right back 'atcha, Weir. Lucinda pushes herself off of the mare with a small impact on the ground.]
But go ahead. Once again, I can only depend on your capable hands.
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The trees are very close to each other, the branches needing to be swept out of the way by hand to pass. He assumes she's following, though that much is verified easily by the sound of her footsteps behind him.
But then, quite suddenly, the forest opens up into a wide clearing, utterly carpeted in Vale Sapphires. It's an open space, shuddering in the breeze, though if Lucinda takes the time to observe, it isn't all blue flowers.
There's a hole in the ground. A huge, gaping hole, cavernous and yawning -- something ominous about its blackness.
Weir moves towards it.]
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As Weir moves towards it, she's about to take a step forward until her friends make her stop in her tracks.]
... Weir.
[Lucinda tilts her head as she listens to her friends.]
You didn't know the forest, but you know this place?
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Weir moves to the former, not looking back at Lucinda. He turns the lever that draws up a rope hanging deep inside the pit. Impossible to tell what he's heaving up with the winch right now, though.]
I'm very familiar with this place, yes. I used to delve down deep in there, rooting around for anything that might be of use, bringing it back to the surface for this blasted town.
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Flora... [She moves to stand next to Weir.]
... Is having quite the fit about it. Just from standing nearby, she and Feather find it foul.
But you did it to survive. [She gazes down at the hole.]
It shaped you, didn't it? Not the town that's here now.
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It is foul. Down there, you may find the most baffling things. Old relics from an age no one quite understands. Plants with impossibly potent healing properties, or magical ones, that proper magic-wielders used to fight over in the city. Old structures of strange architecture. Stones that hold odd energies. Creatures in which you might carve off their parts for enchanted trinkets, or even plates of armor.
Youโre right. That world is more my home than the one youโve stepped foot in.
[And for a flash of a moment, he actually soundsโฆ bitter about that. Like being dealt the wrong hand in life twice over. Like having contentedness thrown into his arms, and not feeling content at all.
But his expression doesnโt change. Eventually, the rope gives way to whatโs finally being hefted up: a small wooden platform with something large wrapped up in thick, frayed burlap set on top of it. Clearly, Weir had already prepared whatever it is prior to now โ maybe yesterday, maybe the day before. He locks the lever in place and stands up straight, moving over to fetch it.
Itโs big enough, whatever it is, that he has to sling it over his shoulder to carry it away from the edge of the hole in the ground. Andโฆ well.
It stinks.
It smells like sulfur and rot.]
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[Flora hates this. Feather waits. Fang is silent but he's the most ready of them all.
Lucinda covers her nose with her cloak and watches as Weir carries his package away from the hole with narrowed eyes.]
Weir.
[Her voice is calm and cold. She's a woman of contrasts who feels so much and carries deep wounds but can look at what's in front of her and change accordingly.]
What does this have to do with us being guests?
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Youโre going to help me to decide what to do with you. As guests.
[A relatively unhelpful answer. For now, he crouches down and unwraps the item from the burlap, layer by layer. He doesnโt balk from the smell, utterly unaffected. Slowly, Lucinda will see the slow reveal of a tail. Than the pad of a paw. The strange, moist flesh of something that must have been decaying for who-knows-how-long. The tip of a fetid snout.]
This is your chance to prove that youโre not just an inconvenience. Orโฆ [He shrugs a shoulder.] Perhaps I mean the opposite: that youโre too large of an inconvenience, one that I canโt just throw away when it gets too troublesome for me.
[Eventually, whatโs been wrapped up becomes fully exposed: itโs an awful-looking monster, very much dead, shaped a bit like a canid but if you added a few too many extra, wiggling bits.
Even as a corpse, splayed out on the burlap, it looks like something that doesnโt truly belong in this forest, in this town. Like a bit of darkness plucked up from the deep โ because thatโs exactly what it is.]
I hardly think it needs any introduction, but this is one of the monsters you can find prowling down there.
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Without having to ask, she surmises that no one in the Vale knows this hole, not like Weir does from the life he knew before. Inexplicably, this part of the world did revolve around him and the medium is not certain how that makes her feel, especially now that he's made it clear that she's an inconvenience.
A large one at that.
Well.
Depending on what he's planning, Lucinda should think she'll have to show how inconvenient she can be if he crosses the line.
Without that thought displayed across her face, she glances at Weir again.]
As we both know, I've been nothing but helpful during my stay here. So why stop now? I'm wide awake out of anticipation.
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But other than that? They don't care about it beyond it acting as a passing novelty in their minds.
And that is the main difference between this world and the one before.]
Are you?
[He says, and he's already taking one of his knives out of its sheath. Lucinda will see that this one is not a normal knife made of steel; its blade is ebony, so dark that it seems to reflect no light. He doesn't appear to be brandishing it at her, but rather points its tip down at the corpse at his feet, the blade teasing at rotted flesh.]
"Helpful" is generous, Lucinda. I hardly see how you've been helpful to me at all. There is a part of me that's starting to wonder if you'd just be better off gone. Do you agree with that?
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[Her eyes track the knife that he wields and how he points it at the creature, not her. Past experience informs her that whatever he's about to do, the monster won't stay down for long. She turns and takes a few casual steps away, readjusting her cloak (loosening it rather) before continuing to speak.]
I would like to be gone. Gone from here and back to home. You and Turner's Vale would become an odd and distant memory. This would have just been a detour from my usual life as a particularly burdened esper.
[As she was speaking, a sweet scent emits from her body. Flora detests the putrid stink of the dead monster. Rather than rotten flesh, sweet overripe floral fruit is much preferable.
And it's a warning sign from Lucinda herself.]
So I think it's time to cut the pretense. It's not like you Weir. I'm the one who should be dancing around the main point, not you.
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No, he supposes it wouldn't be, given her work back home.]
You're right. Straight to it, then.
[He pushes the ebony knife into the wolf-monster, and the blade slides in easily as though it were cutting through nothing tougher than vellum. The curve of its sharp edge buries itself into flesh, unseen; but it is the hilt that begins to glow along the etched carvings, coiling in a sickly green glow.
That same glow, a strange essence of energy, glides down the knife handle, presumably lowering itself into the blade. And by way of that, the corpse itself.]
You're either going to die here or you're going to prove too difficult to kill and remain my problem for however fucking long you're stuck in this world. If it's the latter, well, we'll cross that bridge if we get there. And if it's the former...
[He yanks out the knife, slick with fleshy rot. Something in the corpse stirs, a gutteral breath rattling in neglected lungs.]
Then I will throw you in the Pit and be done with you. Not my problem any more. I think that's fair, don't you?
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[It sounds simple as a solution on the surface. Lucinda will always be their main priority over everything else and that's why she needs to be the one who is able to clearly see the larger picture. She can't just make use of her friends so recklessly. There is something to this world in regard to Weir's involvement a misfit of a puzzle piece. No, she can't kill him here, not yet, not now. It is quite possible that Lucinda will have to overturn a few more stones in order to find a way home.
As breath returns to the monster's lungs, Lucinda replies pleasantly to Weir with that dissonant serenity she applies when her life is in danger.]
You aren't the first person to threaten my life. And I'd hardly want you to be the last if it means drawing my final breath here and having my corpse thrown into that hole.
[She carries no weapons, nothing that can be weaponized. All she has are the clothes on her back and her friends in her body.
And really, if it's just Weir and a fiend of dead flesh, she might not need much else.]
Alright. Let me just make some room here before it tries to take a bite...
[Just a few more steps, crushing some Sapphires beneath her feet, nothing more. No running start, no visible panic. She's more than ready.]
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The voice in his head deigns to burst out in static-laughter.]
Yes, well, how terrible for you. [His reply is to the awful god-thing in his head, not Lucinda. And yet he doesnโt make this clear, uncaring if he leaves her confused.] No, Iโm not sure. Thatโs why Iโm doing this in the first place.
[He stands, hitching his knife back into its sheath. Weir makes no other moves for now, choosing to cross his arms and eye Lucinda from where he stands. Almost too unaffected for whatโs about to happen: his eyes, for one, already naturally dark green, take on an eerier sickly glow, ringed around his irises. It matches the energy that had been exuded by his knife hilt.
And the monster? It twitches, writhes. Lifts itself up, back raising first as though it were pulled up by a marionetteโs strings, before its four legs follow suit, finding purchase on the ground. Its head lifts and its eyes focus on Lucinda, maw opening and closing, opening and closing, flashing teeth. Too many teeth, embedded across odd angles in its body. Too many coiling tendrils of flesh lashing from its middle and lurching forward, now given โlife.โ It growls, gnashing its fangs.
Itโs far from the worst thing in the Pit. But itโll do for now.]
No dallying, now. Letโs make it quick.
[Was that to her or the monster?
Doesnโt matter.
The creature leaps forward, leaving trails of shadow in its wake, dashing straight towards her.]
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Lucinda removes her cloak and tosses it aside. Underneath she wears her low-cut white blouse, the one from home. Across her collarbone and her chest, the peony flower tattoos, Flora, rustle across her chest, leaves and petals shuddering. She is no use against a dead creature but her sweet aroma can at least soothe dear Huyen's senses. As for the others...]
Feather.
[The moment the monster is mere inches away from her with its open maw ready to tear her apart, Lucinda jumps and leaps over it in a backward arch. She lands on her feet behind it but doesn't stop there. Feather makes her hover a few yards off of the ground and the medium starts to travel between trees without leaving the vicinity of Weir and the Pit, to see if it will give chase.
Fang can wait.]
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So, then, not an issue. That leaves them with Feather and Fang.
Fang can be handled with later -- likely the trickiest of the lot. But Feather, he expects Lucinda to use nigh immediately, and Weir is not at all disappointed when she uses her spirit to gain quickness and ease of traversal through the trees. And he is sure this creature can match it. He's seen it hunt down prey in the Pit, knows the extent of its dexterity. And he'll show her, too.
The monster does give chase, running on limbs in a way that looks like it is indeed being puppeted by an outside force, yet never so stilted to not move at a frighteningly dexterous pace. The shadows along its form whip out and latch onto the shadows cast by the trees, and for a moment, it is nothing but an inkly black void of gnashing teeth and eyes, following and then lurching upwards, slowly reforming on a branch that hangs right above her head.
It leaps down, turning once again into the shape of a wolf-hound, starting with a huge, sharp set of teeth first, while the rest of it melds itself behind it, forepaws flung forward to pounce on her.
Weir, for now, really will do nothing more than watch. He has the audacity to move over and lean up against the winch, arms still crossed, while this takes place. With how crowded the forest is with trees beyond the clearing itself, it's safe to assume that he can still at least somewhat through the monster's eyes during this whole ordeal.]
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... You're right. If I don't take this seriously, I'd just be proving him correct. So...
[She keeps her eye on the corpse hound and Feather makes her fly higher to create more distance and more room for what's about to happen next. Her dark eyes gaze at it with little fear and incredible serenity.
Mediums aren't known for any combat ability. Lucinda herself is a woman of above average strength though otherwise is as frail as any other human who only has enough endurance to be possessed by ghosts and three mysterious deities.
But the Esper Collective knew they had struck gold when they realized what Lucinda Huyen Tran carried within her.]
Rip and tear, Fang.
[Through the monster's eyes, something akin to smoke emits from Lucinda's back. The smoke forms into an outline and as its visage becomes clearer two giant glowing eyes emerge becoming brighter and brighter until it shines in the wolf-hound's face.
Fang is enormous. His serpentine body that snakes around Lucinda and the trees oscillates between corporeal and not. Though his being is transparent, his presence is overwhelming and domineering with heat radiating off of his scales, hinted to be obsidian with a sheen of vermillion to match his beard and fur that lines around him. And that's not even his full size, but it's more than enough for now.
When he opens his jaws and roars the force of the sound echoes throughout the forest, shaking the trees, making the Vale Sapphires tremble until their petals burst and fly all around them.]
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The dragon's roar is a force unto itself, the reverb of sound cascading through the clearing, jittering the petals clean off the blossoming Sapphires nearby. Weir's definitely not keeping his casual lean against the winch now; between viewing the emergence of the dragon from the monster's eyes and his own bones feeling as though they might shake under the pressure of that roar, he straightens and digs his heels into the ground, his mind assessing.
Well. Fang's already made his appearance, it would seem, and though it's earlier than Weir expectedโand the blasted ghost is so much bigger than he expected, but perhaps that was his own folly; damn thing is a dragonโat least this information is out in the wild now. At least he has an idea moving forward of what heโs dealing with, one of the bigger mysteries finally unearthed. Sacrificing an undead monster is a small price to pay.
The wolf is still snarling, but it pauses in its pursuit in the face of the dragon, not out of fear (it does not feel fear any longer), but simply because Weir has taken the time to assess what to do next with it. Finally, though, it snaps its jaws rather fruitlessly and leaps forward again.]
Thereโs a reason I chose a corpse for the chopping block and not myself.
Well, the wolf is a fine enough of a distraction to find out, is it not?
[Speaking of the wolfโฆ Its shadowy form lashes with its tendrils, trying to wrap them around Fangโs maw, as though that would somehow help it from biting it in twain. It becomes amorphous again, just a vague outline of a canid, while the rest of its tries to slip past its scales and aim its many teeth, many mouths, at Lucindaโs soft flesh.]
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