warforged | your hands protect the flames

Entry tags:

your hands protect the flames

Who: The Dragonsworn
What: The first arrival of the Dragonsworn goes a bit...awry.
Where: Scattered around the perimeter of Suramar.
When: Dawn on March 21st
Warnings: Please PM the mods if any warnings are needed

It is almost as if you've woken from a daydream when the ground meets your feet. The stench of fire is overpowering, and though dawn is just approaching in the canopies of Kalimdor, bright flashes of green can be seen between the branches of impossibly tall trees. If that doesn't snap you out of your surprise, then the sound of nearby spitting in demonic tongue may persuade you to get a grip and notice your surroundings -- you are not alone. There are others like you, huddled just a bit too close, with a somewhat familiar face keeping you from advancing further. Looking down at your hands may briefly reveal a momentary flash of color, but nothing lasting more than a few seconds.

The mages of each flight take the helm of their charges, and they are quick to notice any movement from their groups despite channeling some sort of spell to keep you protected. Stray fire will bounce off an invisible shield that ripples when anything make contact with it. There seems to be nothing in sight but your new comrades, and your guardian -- at least not on the ground. The sky has flying demons swarming a pack of dragons -- and the dragons are very clearly losing. Look just a bit farther, and you might find more dragons, though these clearly have different colored scales than the ones above your head.

While distracted, you may hear your guardian speak to you. "There may yet be wounded nearby -- if you care to, bring them here, and we will tend to them from the Sanctum." Briefly, they gesture skyward, toward the dragons flying overhead. "Do not bring to us any that are not our own, lest you invite their demise!"

But the mage is focused on casting -- they are in no position to halt your advance, and they know it. They speak with concern -- concern for you, concern for the dire situation at hand. The demonic cackling is drawing near. The forests are rapidly becoming overrun, and there are already a few dragons slain on the forest floor.

"Take care, Dragonsworn -- I am bringing us to safety, but it will take time. To wander far is to invite your ruin, and we cannot afford the loss of your life."

[OOC: You are free to mingle on this post as you choose, despite the flight groups being scattered through the forests around Suramar -- after this log, you will be separated into your sanctums, and your interactions will be watched much more closely. Attempting to enter the city itself will result in a vicious attack from demons that will kill. The Dragon Mages will be tagging sporadically to heroes of their matching flight, and the conclusion of this log will lead Dragonsworn through portals to their Sanctums.]

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[Everyone needs the Doctor's commentary! It's delightful and...very rarely makes any sort of sense, okay, but the Master really ought to be used to that sort of thing by now. He hasn't made any sort of sense for several regenerations now.

He tucks the screwdriver away in his coat, but doesn't make any sort of move to go away. For a moment, he thinks about taking the Master back to the healers, but he still remembers what the woman had told him: bringing back a member of any other flight would lead to their death. And since the Master hadn't been with the other Bronzesworn, that must mean that he's with another dragonflight.]

No.

[This time when his head snaps up, it stays up, and he sneers. No? Seriously?

The energy that gathers at his hands to lash out isn't the energy that he's expecting; instead, it's something much darker, blending together with too much of his lifeforce that he recoils, and the spell dissipates in a snap. He holds out his shaking hands, staring at them with unfocused, wild eyes.

Well. At least it means he didn't attack the Doctor.]

[He doesn't flinch, doesn't try to pull away when the Master attempts to attack him. He doesn't care about that; it's pretty typical for all their interactions, honestly. (He really misses the days when his attacks used to be as simple as swordfights sometimes.)

The Doctor grabs his wrist, wrapping his long fingers around it with ease, and staring at it right along with the Master. When he touches his skin, he gets odd, fragmented flashes of visions - things he's seen before, but from the Master's point of view - and he shakes his head to dissipate them. That's strange.]

Don't do that.

[He's not concerned for his own safety, but he would really like the Master to not use up all his lifeforce on stupid things like attacking him.]

[Yeah, that's not happening. Besides, it's not like he did it on purpose. ...Well. He did, just... not in this fashion. He's honestly not sure what just happened. It bothers him a lot more than he shows, but that's only because pure fury overtakes his expression.

How dare--

He thrashes, making an attempt to tear his wrist free.]

Release me!!

Oh, honestly, stop being so dramatic.

[He pauses, remembering who he's talking to, and makes a face.]

Well. I guess you probably can't, actually. But you can stop expending your life force on ridiculous attacks like that. I'm not going to let you go until you calm down enough to stop trying to kill me.

[He sounds entirely pragmatic about this, and not like he's calmly discussing the Master's attempts on his life. It's the sort of thing he got used to centuries ago.]

[And then he just stops. Every muscle simply locks up and he stares, like it's the first time he's actually looking at the person in front of him. He understands. He knows.

Besides, any sane person would back away when their life was potentially on the line. And sure, if they were comparing which one of them was more sane, the Doctor would win, but how much would he really be winning by?

He shakes his head as if to clear it. His senses are off. Everything is off; no doubt the Doctor wants to "fix him" but that's too invasive for the Master, no matter the terms they may have parted on.]

Of course. [He scowls quietly. The anger is fading from his voice.] Can't ever be free of you.

[He lets the Master's wrist go, satisfied that he's stopped trying to kill him - for the moment, anyway. It probably won't last for long, but he'll deal with the next threat when it happens.]

I died instead of Wilf, you know. He was locked in the containment cell, and someone had to let him out. The radiation flooded every cell of my body.

[In other words, the Master killed him, albeit indirectly. But he's not going to mention that. After all, the Master also saved him, dooming himself in the process.]

And I could say the same about you, anyway. Seems like everywhere I turn, you just keep popping back up again. You're nearly as bad as the Daleks.

You died to save a human. Why am I not surprised. [Why did you even bring it up? He wasn't going to ask. He didn't want to know, not really. Are you just trying to make him angry again?] Should've just let Rassilon disintegrate you! [What a pain in his ass. Way to waste his efforts on a lousy human. Just because he left the nuclear bomb on didn't mean you had to go and be a moron.]

It's not like I asked to be here.

[He really hopes there aren't any Daleks that came with him. Wouldn't that just add to his misery.]

[Do you really expect the Doctor to not be a moron? Has that ever happened once in the entire time you've known him? Seriously, Master.]

I imagine it's better than being back on the last day of the Time War. After all, you ran away from it well before then last time.

[Tact is vastly overrated.]

[Yeah, foolish him for thinking that maybe that Doctor would learn his lesson for once. And no, he's not a hypocrite. Not in the slightest.

The Master's really starting to consider testing out what's changed in his life force, Doctor. Maybe you should start investing in tact for once. He stiffens at the comment and narrows his eyes.]

Oh yes, because going from one war to another is my idea of a jaunty trip. [Though at least Rassilon might not be here.]

[The Doctor laughs suddenly. It's not a kind sound. He's seen his fill of war over the centuries, and none of them have been worse than the last few battles of the Time War.]

You weren't there before, Master. You didn't see what it all became, what the Council turned to in their last few desperate grasps at salvation. They were just as bad as the Daleks, in the end - maybe even worse. These demons might be an interdimensional threat, but this is a holiday compared to the fall of Arcadia.

[He growls.] And it seems like I missed out again! [He stands up quickly, despite how much it makes his body protest. It'll deal. He doesn't want to look weak in front of the Doctor of all people.] Lucky me! Perhaps I should make the most of this vacation! Appease our dragon overlords! [Or whatever they truly are.] Play along. Go to war for them. That's what it looks like, right? [He snorts.] As if you could handle that.

I've fought in more wars than you could ever possibly know, Master. I stayed after you ran away. [Granted, he had to be coerced there in the first place, but details.] You ever hear the saying 'demons run when a good man goes to war'? D'you know who they were referring to when they coined the phrase? 'Cos I reckon this lot might just find out.

[Oh god, it's a Time Lord dick-waving contest.]

[He just stares down at the Doctor, not sure what he had been expecting. Yelling? Denial? The sheer force of will fighting against war with every fiber in his body? The Master's own resolve wavers slightly--just slightly--at seeing a war-ready Doctor. They are on different sides, after all.]

So they might. Won't that be interesting? I'm sure they won't know what's coming.

[He sure as hell doesn't.]

[This regeneration is surprisingly good at bluffing and posturing and looking very threatening. He's still, well, himself, but he doesn't embrace his predecessor's almost extreme pacifism. This Doctor is older and, when it comes down to it, rather more dangerous.

He shoves his hands into his pockets, surveying the Master.]

The Oncoming Storm.

...Mind, I always hated that name, especially when translated into Skarosian. Did you know, the Daleks have entirely forgotten who I am now? I met someone who completely erased me from their databanks.

[...of course, how much longer he can manage to pull off the whole 'scary threatening Doctor' thing is pretty questionable.]

[He wonders if he could erase the Doctor from his "databank." It's only a brief, childish wonder. Much as he'd hate to think of it, doing so would erase too much of himself.]

And that really surprises you? Not that it's entirely good for their survival, but I doubt they were thinking of that. Dragons and demons though. [He grins suddenly.] That's new. Sounds like fun.

[And then of course while he's having this "fun" of his, his body violently phases. Well. That was only a matter of time. He makes a twisted, frustrated sound, and backs up. Maybe he should go back to the other blacksworn.]

[The Doctor makes a concerned face, all his posturing suddenly disappearing. He doesn't want the Master to die; he takes a step forward, then thinks better of it.]

Rather less fun if you manage to die in the middle of it, I should think. Maybe there's something some of the dragons can do-

[If they were on Gallifrey - Gallifrey-that-was, before the Time War, before all the planet's resources were devoted to surviving - they might stand a chance of fixing it (though he's not sure the Master wants to be fixed). But on a strange, primitive planet like this one, he's not sure what can be done; on the other hand, the dragons also have magic, and he knows there are healers here.]

[It's a good thing that the Doctor doesn't come towards him; the Master surely would have bolted or attacked. Even so, the thought of anyone or anything trying to manipulate his body to "help"--]

Nothing can help me! [he yells] I don't want anything messing with me like some experiment! We're their playthings, Doctor. That's it.

Then you'll die, Master. There is no other option, no way out. If you don't find someone to help you, then- [He spreads his hands. It doesn't need to be said.]

I know you don't want to be someone's lab rat, but I don't think you want to die, either.

[Although he'd bet on that one other time and lost, whoops, so he probably shouldn't try it again.]

I'll find a third option. [He doesn't know what, but he'll find it. See this expression, Doctor? It's determination.

...actually, he looks more crazy than anything. But. Potato, potahto.]

I don't need you, I don't need them, all I need is myself.

[Pretty much all of the Master's expressions look crazy, he's used to it. He just shrugs at his declaration.]

If that's your choice, then so be it.

[He starts to walk away, then halts, turning back around like he's just remembered something.]

Gallifrey's still out there, you know. Frozen in a moment in time, hidden somewhere, waiting to be found. I saved it. All of my selves saved it.

[Because the Master's the only other person who can appreciate what this really means to him. Sure, he's crazy, and he'll probably spit on his accomplishment, but he has to tell him.]

[That causes him to pause, which is good since it means he doesn't waste any of his energy sending it at the Doctor's back for thinking it was a good idea to turn away from him.

He supposes, had it not been for the Burning Legion and dragons, he'd be frozen on Gallifrey. There's something calming about that; it means that Rassilon wouldn't have been trying to kill him right away.

His lips quirk into a small smirk.]

Of course they did. As if you needed anything else to add to your hero complex.

Oi! I do not have a...a hero complex!

[Yes, Doctor, you do.]

I was just righting a wrong, that's all. Well, I suppose it was less righting a wrong than making sure I hadn't done it in the first place and continuing to think that I had, but...well, you know how time travel is.

[He droops a little, although he refuses to admit to himself that he'd been secretly hoping for the Master's approval.]

Edited 2014-03-24 02:56 (UTC)

Give the boy a prize! [He rolls his eyes.] What, should I clap? [Give him another taste of the drums as backup percussion? Because it's not like those have shut up. Wouldn't that have been convenient?]

Please, Doctor, really. You should have let them burn.

[It meant he would have burned, too, but at least Rassilon would have suffered, and that almost mattered more than the Master surviving. Feeling his anger starting to return, this time he turns his back on the Doctor. He's had enough of this.]

[Well, a little bit of appreciation would be nice, what with saving their entire species from extinction and all. He looks a little crestfallen at the Master's suggestion; the Doctor's always been a bleeding heart.]

No. There'd been enough deaths in the Time War, enough planets destroyed in the wake of civilisations clashing. I couldn't let it happen again.

[He thinks about saying something when the Master turns his back on him, but he realises it's probably better to let him go. Their conversations work best when kept as short as possible, and this one has already gone on too long.]

your hands protect the flames

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