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.]

Threaded | Flat

[...What?

The voice, the ruins... it's dangerous to feel numb in a situation like this, she knows, but that doesn't stop her from staring aimlessly just a while. Her head lulls down, before she jerks up as a flash of red fills her senses.

Those aren't dragons she knew. Long? Quetzalcoatl, Gucumatz? Other strange figures- it would be dangerous to tack the blanket term demons on all those entities, but!]

I'll help tend to the wounded. [At least, she says, until Amane opens her palms and... finds her powers sealed? Crap, she's going to have to be ten times more careful. Who cast the Mute condition on her? But she can still talk?

Praying that the voice she heard before this was telling the truth, and the Mage is benevolent... anyone want to join her trying to get to a bleeding dragon unscathed?]

Edited 2014-03-22 00:27 (UTC)

     If the surroundings hadn't been so vivid in more ways than simply visual, then Jacques could have dismissed it as a strange dream. The possibility doesn't even enter his mind as he snaps to attention, his hands already reaching to unsling the over-sized weapon from his back, more so by reflex than anything else at this point. Even as he does so, his mind is leaping hurdles and darting through hoops to try and get him to speed.

     They're on a battleground, that much is more than obvious. A battle of beasts, and not going well at that. He finally looks towards the one who first addressed him, and although Jacques says nothing in response, he's listening. It's a dangerous situation, but it would be even more dangerous to allow oneself to panic.

     It's the low keening and the subtle crunch of bark that startles him, accompanied with the rustle of feathers. For a brief moment the Hunter stares almost uncomprehendingly at the large eagle that's landed nearby, but as though some sort of understanding has passed between them, Jacques nods at it before he turns his attention back to the surrounding battlefield.

     Wounded. The dark-skinned elf had made mention of bringing them here. He supposes he should move, then. Now isn't much the time for questions, but it isn't the time to slack off, either. Sliding a large arrow into place, Jacques preps his bow gun quickly as he moves, scanning the area before finding an ideal place that he can keep an eye on things, and if necessary, provide cover fire as he gains a better idea of the situation.

What the fuck.

[Caliborn is pissed.]

[He didn't pay attention for most of the "explanation," as Caliborn so loosely interprets all that ridiculous nonsense as an annoying distraction against a background of really awesome carnage. It is only by the force of confusion that he didn't promptly dash away to shoot everyone he could find and call it a day.]

[He thought he had a firm grasp on his life. Now the rug has been pulled so thoroughly out from under him in a way that it never has before, and he really dislikes it a lot. The fact that his time powers don't seem to work anymore almost drives him into a Class A Tantrum.]

[His life is really, really hard.]

[He only decides not to throw one because there's some really great dying going on all around them, and far be it for him to ignore a spectacular massacre. The fact that it is between demons and dragons, two things that he was pretty sure only exist in human fiction, does add novelty appeal. They are bleeding and there's fire, and that makes sure that his mood has started to balance itself out.]

[The cherub does not even pay half a second's thought to helping dragons. That is so far and away from anything he wants to do, and in fact, he occasionally pauses to watch with wide-grinned glee as a particularly nasty scene unfolds above them. Otherwise, he's purely focused on working his problems out the only way he knows how: the harassment of everyone and anyone he can find.]

[You'll get to find a home, they said. You'll get to have the future that you want, they said.]

[Well, Zelos can safely say this was not the sort of home or future he had in mind. In fact, this was the exact opposite of what he wanted! Who the hell would want to be stuck in the middle of a demon and dragon battle?! No one sane, that was for sure.]

[He's not really fighting against the Dragon Mages though. Hell, he's still processing what just happened since things changed so quickly. Instead- he's leaning one handed against one of the tall trees, rubbing his head when he's not watching out for a demon or dragon above him. For some reason, he felt off. Every sound he heard felt muted, his vision blurred, his muscles were weaker and...there was something missing. Like some part of him was gone and he couldn't fully put his finger on what. But, it almost felt like he was...]

[Nah. Couldn't be that.]

[But he might be caught muttering to himself while he looks around at his surroundings]

Man, talk about into the fire. I really have no luck.

Edited 2014-03-22 01:30 (UTC)

[The Doctor is peering around with interest at his new surroundings - especially the demons and the dragons in the sky. There are other mortals around him, and he suspects that they're in the same situation he is, brought to this world for the purpose of saving all the universes.

(He remembers what it was like to see Gallifrey burn in the fires of the Legion; he's only recently regained it, and he can't lose it again. He doesn't know where it is yet, but he believes the danger to it is very real.)

Eventually, he sneaks away from the group and into the forest, pulling his sonic screwdriver from his jacket pocket. It's not much of a defence against demons; he's well aware of that. It won't even help against members of the other dragonflights. But he's hardly going to stay put when he's on a new world - in a new universe.]

It had taken Lirael's patron mage a bit longer to find her and round her up, but she was safely within the fold now. Or as close to it as one could be when one didn't trust one's "protector" very much and there was a battle going on overhead and scattered throughout the woods. As testament to her wariness, she kept Kibeth, the small cheerful-sounding bell that reminded her of her best friend, in hand and ready to flip and sound at a moment's notice.

Then again, having a weapon of some sort was probably wise given the current setting. Even if that weapon happened to look utterly harmless, to most people.

She wore her scale mail and rose-colored Remembrancer tunic, having come to this war from a battle of her own, a bandolier across her chest with handles sticking out of little pouches on it, and a sword buckled at her right side... useless, since her only hand was full of bell and clapper. But she was alert, and still trying to figure out just what was going on here, and not particularly threatening-looking despite her weaponry and her tense expression. A slight, pale girl of only nineteen with only one hand probably didn't look like much of a threat to anyone.

[as Tempest stands there, watching the carnage around her unfold, she realizes two things: one, this wasn't a dream. The stench of fire was too strong, too real for her to mistake it for something her dreams would produce. As someone who preferred that particular element when casting her own magic, she knew it just as she knew the back of her hand.

The second thing was, the unvierse was screwing her again. That was the only explanation she could think of as to why she was standing in yet another unfamiliar world, against her will again, for whatever reason - she had heard it, of course, but processing it was another matter entirely. Especially since her temper was two steps away from getting the better of her, and she was putting all her concentration in resisting the urge to set everything within seeing distance on fire.

A temper tantrum wouldn't do anyone good right now anyway.

So instead, she forces back her scowl and decides that listening to her "guardian" would be in her best interests. Find the wounded and bring them back? Sure. She could do that. It'd keep her temper in check, at the very least]

*...it probably says quite a bit about Geddoe that this isn't even the strangest thing he's ever seen. In any case he quickly surveys his surroundings, eye and ears open, paying attention to every word spoken even as his gaze seems focused on anything but*

.......

*it all lends itself to far more questions than answers, but now clearly isn't the time to ask. Instead he just draws his sword and starts moving, skirting as close to (and possibly beyond, if he can) the edges of the protected space--ostensibly to look for any of the hypothetical wounded that might be out there, but more to get a better idea of what's going on. He's not seeking any fights, though he's prepared should one find him anyway*

[ A large part of Zero is relieved that she was not in Midgard again. Though what she had been told required Zero to suspend her disbelief like never before, the thought of being chosen to partake in a battle in another world does not surprise her in the least.

She can only hope that her time on here would be more fortunate... but scratch that. Her supply of hope is always short.

Eyes trailing down the length of her white, blood-splattered clothing, she feels altogether different, a disposition that is probably not due to the events that transpired before she was called to Azeroth. The flower in her right-eye is gone. But then, that's to be expected.

Not taking the time to concern herself with her appearance and the fairly new 'problem' of being undead, Zero chalks up the strange way she's feeling towards the shock of being transplanted to another world. She wanders off towards the forest floor towards the dragons, sword at her side before stopping at the nearest wounded black dragon.

She stares at the dragon for a moment, before raising her eyebrows as if in expectation. It's not as if the Intoner could carry the dragon off by herself. Looking nearby towards the other new arrivals, she regards one of the closer ones with impatience before issuing what very much sounds like an order. ]

You. Don't just stand there, we have dragons to take save. [ At first, Zero sounds mildly amused, before her expression twists with confusion as she hears the echo of her voice. ]

Edited 2014-03-22 03:39 (UTC)

[It's not the battle, the dragons, nor the warning that are bothering Saori, it's the feeling of weakness. Nothing about this feels right, nothing about it at all. Her body felt drained, her head light, and her entire body heavier than it should be. Almost like one of those damn Shifts the Malnosso were so fond of. Only...nothing in Luceti was like this. There weren't dragons, or...portals or magic like this.

With the sounds of war raging all around her, it's hard to process any of it, really. She silently sinks down to her knees, staring down at her hands, clutching her long, straight bladed sword and feeling the odd heaviness to it that hadn't been present the day before. Even the nastiest of things the Malnosso did weren't anything like this. And they never, ever removed the wings on her back. Wings that were quite clearly gone, as much as the feel of the storm in her body was gone. And where, she did not know.

After a long moment, Saori finally pushes herself to her feet and unsteadily begins to just...walk. Somewhere, anywhere. Away from this strange feeling, though she's not foolish enough to go near the battle. Not like this. Her face is a sullen, confused mess, and despite having the sword hanging from her belt she's definitely not prepared to use it. Anywhere but here, that's where she wants to be.]

To say she was disoriented was a complete and total understatement. Nepeta had gone from dying, to being in the midst of moving to the new place where the dead apparently went, to this.

Dragons were something she was... well, not familiar with, not in the flesh at least, but the concept was one she was well acquainted with. Thanks in particular to a friend of hers, who she was currently glancing around for, to no avail. It looked like she was the only troll here.

The other creatures... well, she knew monsters when she saw them, and these looked like very ferocious ones. If she could take one on in a solo fight she might actually want to test herself against it, but it was obvious that if she wasn't careful, she'd get mobbed. Old hunting instincts rose to the fore of her mind, and she looked around the battlefield, trying to find something, anything, that she could actually do to affect the situation.

A fallen dragon not far from her caught her eye. There weren't any demons too close to it yet, but judging by the sounds coming from the forest that wouldn't last much longer. She had to act fast.

She began to move. Carefully, deliberately, but determinedly. She wasn't sure how she'd get the dragon back, but she had to do something.

[After helping some injured green dragons to safety, Rose prowled just outside the protective area of her flight. She was establishing a perimeter, securing the immediate area. It was instinctual to her now when she was in guardian mode. It also helped keep her focused.

Especially since anyone observant enough would notice her continually sending curious glances toward the city where the demons were...]

[It's been a while since Luke was in a real battle. Most of the time, the sounds of explosions were muffled and distant as they hid underground. But this hails back to that one time-- a time which is a little fuzzy, admittedly-- but he's sure it's because he and Asch had died. But he's alive here and now, and far away from Auldrant, and there isn't anything he can do about it.

This isn't the first time he's had to deal with war. Hopefully it'll be the last. Although he's not happy, he understands there are more important things to deal with. If they screw up in this forest, they'll die.

He's thankful, at least, that he has his weapon. He glances around, fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword.]

I-- I'll see what I can do!

[He can at least protect the mage while he works on the portal. He's used to protecting Jade and the other fonists in combat. It can't be that much different, even though this world doesn't have a trace of the technology that ruled Exsilium.

That's probably a good thing, but his mind keeps wandering in the direction of home. Where's Asch? Is he okay? Will they be able to go home sooner or later and actually stay?

How many people will he have to kill for this war to end?]

"...I've had worse," Maridian commented to no one in particular as he surveyed the situation. In fact, arriving in the middle of some sort of crisis, or having one erupt around him the moment he went somewhere new, was actually becoming alarmingly old-hat.

He still had weapons and armor. Good. Without hesitation, the paladin immediately stepped away from the gathered people, towards the outskirts of safety. If there were injured people around, he had to find them and help them.

Despite his curious feeling of... weakness, the blood elf still moved with the confidence of one long-used to chaos and conflagration, an almost-cheerful smile on his face as he set out to do a job he knew quite well.

[ it's a little.. dizzying.

something, he thinks, like traveling between sylvarant and tethe'alla, a sort of pulling, a strange, brief, fleeting feeling that isn't strong, but surely feels bizarre and then.. then there's the scent of sick char, something like a roar, and fire coming right toward him -- ]

W-woah!

[ it's fast, and genis has his hands up to protect himself, about to call forth the force field but -- it isn't necessary. the fire ripples off of something like.. a barrier? he isn't sure, everything's moving so quickly and those are definitely dragons, wow, huge ones! genis has seen dragons before, but they didn't look anything like these great, broad behemoths wheeling above him and he's struck dumb staring for a moment, his blue eyes wide and watching in awe.

WELL.. he sure as hell isn't in aselia anymore, that's for sure. guess that whole thing wasn't a dream after all, huh.. ]

Edited (derp) 2014-03-22 05:45 (UTC)

The sound of corrupted Eredun alone is enough to snap Vas out of her stupor. She pulls her shield to herself as she draws the weapon at her belt, the crystal short sword ringing as it slides out of its sheath. Panic takes her for a moment - the Exodar isn't under attack, is it?

She looks upward and sees the dragons as they fall from the sky, and it takes every ounce of restraint that she has to not leap into the fray with them. The Legion has found us, she thinks, and they are winning. She takes a moment to glance over her shoulder at the people behind her. Some are outfitted for a fight against demons, but too many are not prepared. The strange figure that ushered her toward the group is probably right, running off to slay the monsters would just as soon be a death sentence for them all.

No, what they need right now is a perimeter around the more vulnerable members of their party. "Hey," she says, gesturing to the nearest person, "we need to secure this place. Will you help?"

Nowi's no stranger to combat, but she's also not like many of the other heroic types here. Rushing into battle with a sword in one hand and a shield in the other isn't something she can do. No, she's always relied on her Dragonstone and with it, the power to transform into a dragon-like creature herself.

So what's a Manakete without a Dragonstone?
Worthless. Completely and devastatingly worthless.

It pains her greatly to think of her new allies having to protect her, but until she can locate her own weapon, she's pretty much useless. A thought that's left the high spirited girl sulking behind a tree bitterly. She might perk her head up if anyone approaches, but for the most part she remains hidden.

Isn't he supposed to be back in Hearthglen, with Martin? It was so close! He could have practically touched it, even through the vastness of time and space. It had been so close, and now, damn... hooded figures, taking him away from the right Azeroth! He's already helped save his Azeroth from another universe! Why again?

Because you do the job that's given you, Bariyan supposes. And hope, eventually, that it will let you go home.

He rolls his shoulders, tries to wipe his mind clear of confusion and frustration and disappointment, and strides out of the safety of the shield to go climb a tree.

He makes surprisingly rapid progress, despite the weight of his armor (though he'd at least left his axe down on the ground). There's a grim determination in him as he swings upwards through the branches, occasionally using his hunting knife to hack a hand- or foot-hold where he needs one. Finding the wounded? Yes, he's hoping he'll have an easier time spotting and marking them out from here -- but he also wants to get a look at this pack of demons responsible for bringing him here.

Of course they're the ones truly responsible, at the heart of all this. They're damn demons.

[ Nearby (but not really sure if she wants to be because oh god demons and dragons are fighting) is another Dragonsworn - a girl in her late teens who looks more than a little frightened as she hides behind a tree. It's not much protection but it's something, more of a comfort than an actual place to escape the attention of the mages and other Dragonsworn since she's still purposely in view because she's not brave enough to separate herself entirely from the situation. There's strength in numbers, after all, and the mage did say to wander too far is to invite ruin...

So naturally, behind the tree she stays. Lady pulls her sweater close around her, looking ill prepared for battle in a cream coloured, flowing dress, with pink flowers in her braided brown hair. She isn't sure what's happening or where she or anyone is going (or supposed to go), so for now she doesn't move - even though she probably should, if it's safety she wants. ]

[ The first sensation to registered with Carolina is the impact of body against solid ground, bare head slamming sideways into the dirt as aqua armor cushions the blow. It isn't the sensation of cold she was expecting, and the keening ache of her head and throb within her mind doesn't seem to fade when the stars finally fade from her vision. The figures around Carolina don't make much sense to her, and while the nearest to her is doing something, holding some form of beam to the sky? She can't make out how he's doing it, the words bouncing off her heedlessly. ]

..What?

[ Her voice croaks painfully. Then again, her everything hurts right now, and the outline of her gloves weave in front of her eyes with an odd, angry red glow. For a moment, green fire and forests and the scent of sulpher and ash merely swim on the borders of her awareness.

Then she attempts to rise, pushing herself up with one elbow, then attempting to drag her legs up and under--

oh. oh that. that was a bad idea.

Carolina tilts, crashing to her side as everything falls out from under her, the world spinning. Eyes squeeze shut, and she gasps in breaths. This isn't, this can't be right. Is she dreaming? Is this Eta and Iota's doing? Is--

** --there's blood on snow and she's choking, screaming as Maine reaches-- **

--No. no.

The silence in her head is a deep throb, the foreboding beat of a drum she can't drown out, and she takes a second shuddering breath before opening her eyes again. She rises again, this time catching herself before she pitches forward, and looks towards where others retreat. War rages around here, (not hers, though she dimly recalls something about an offer being made for her service), and confused state or not, this much the Freelancer knows: she can't stay here.

Come on, Carolina. ]

[ No.

Nonononono. If this was some horrid game Naga was playing with them, it was one she had no interest in being a pawn in. They were about to win, to finally stop having their chains jerked by the machinations of people who knew the future better than she did due to having lived it. She was finally going to get to spend her life with Robin.

Tharja's head throbs as the chaos erupts around her. It was no matter. This wasn't the time to panic. She wasn't a fool. There was an explanation for all of this, a way to fix things, and she was going to find it, demons and dragons be damned.

...At least that's what she'd thought, until she realizes her hexes aren't working. She's also lacking a tome. Oh, good.

She very promptly decides to look for someone who knows what they're doing, and glare at them condescendingly. ]

Edited 2014-03-23 01:11 (UTC)

[He'd seen some strange things since he'd been taken from his home over a year ago, but being flung into what he'd consider a hellish nightmare from his bed in Luceti was not what he was expecting. Waking up and looking upon the aerial battle above, creatures that he'd not even seen in Hell during his brief stay shook him. And these others with him. He didn't recognize a single soul, not one, all looking as confused as he felt.

And this creature, telling him that, no way. He'll do what he pleases, sneering back in irritation at the dragon mage's words. He'd settle this, right now, and destroy everything in the sky-

Except he can't. He tries to fly, standing there trying to call upon his energy, but it doesn't come. His hand is held up palm aimed at a flying demon but nothing forms in his palm. Growling, he figures something around here was suppressing his power, and he sets off to find it.]

[The scent of smoke and the heated air are familiar enough for Qilby to do a mental double-take when he finally comes to. Another war. Out of the frying pan and literally into the fire, eh? He'd almost thought it a blessing when he was taken from one world in flames but as he just now begins to take in his surroundings, blinking blearily and rubbing one eye, it's obvious that this world is no better off.

Still. Considering the fate that had awaited him back on the other world-- he'd take surviving a war between demons and these foreign dragons any day. At least he's alive. At least he's free. At least he's… Mostly whole.

He turns his attention to where, less than fifteen minutes ago, there used to be a left arm. His normally pristine-white tunic is stained bright red, still wet with blood. Leave it to that overzealous Phaeris to actually take a bite out of him, he thinks savagely, running a hand over his shoulder and the ragged edge of what was left of his sleeve there. No wound, barely even a scar; he had to give these other dragons and whatever healing magic they had some credit.

So they need their wounded brought back? The least he could do is assist, he supposes. Maybe slip away and find a way out of this mess while he's at it too. Qilby back looks up and out among the huddled group behind the shield, casting around for a helpful-looking face.]

I'll need a hand. [Says he, straight-faced, only the faintest hint of irony audible in his voice. Is that supposed to be a joke?

Either way, he really does need one.]

[ Well, that had been a waste.

Asch manages to look mighty unimpressed as he stares out at the battle surrounding him and his little group, but when you've died once before and you're pretty sure you've just died again, some things just get a little difficult to get too worked up about. Even if he hasn't actually died, it doesn't escape his notice that this is neither Exsilium nor Auldrant. Stupid Transporter.

Still, don't expect Asch to just stand around looking at everything. He pays attention to what his resident Dragonmage--some pointy-eared, white-haired fellow--has to say, then turns his gaze out to their surroundings with renewed interest. He's really not looking forward to getting dragged into yet another war... but he's been a soldier all his life, and falling back into old habits with easy. With an annoyed huff, he draws his sword and sets off to do as asked.

Besides. Luke might be out there. ]

[ she is surrounded by fire and death, and it causes her to stumble as soon as she tries to move. the urge to run is overpowering for a moment, but riven forces her head up.

the view of the sky doesn't help. head still spinning, she tries to sort out what's just been said. find the wounded? of course there'd be casualties. maybe...

the dying should be left to die, she thinks, but she needs something to focus on. compromises have to be made. still shaky, she sets out without a word, searching for-- anything that isn't the battle immediately overhead, even if it's just the time she needs to calm down. ]

Threaded | Flat

OTA, she's from Red

OTA - He be sportin' green yo

OTA, Black!

OTA, Red

OTA | bronze