Oerba Yun Fang (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
belligerentwarrior) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
recolle2018-05-28 10:44 pm
belligerentwarrior) wrote in recolle2018-05-28 10:44 pm
Entry tags:
Semi-Open
WHO: Freya, Pen, Luna, Felicia; others added as needed
WHERE: Campground, outskirts of Recolle, beginning of the road to Magatus
WHEN: May 20th
WHAT: Freya turns into Ragnarok, and Ragnarok is not friendly.
WARNINGS: Violence
[[Important! If you would like an encounter with Ragnarok, please contact me by PM or at![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
gsdragono and we'll work something out!]]
One arrow. Another. The next.
They came slower once Freya had sorted out her feelings about the cursed mark, but they still came. Every week, more of that reddening eye stared back at her in the mirror. It was thoughts of Ryoji, both of his monstrous side and his return from death that kept Freya sane.
But those thoughts didn't dismiss the fear of the creature that awaited her, or her other self's despise and heart-wrenching pity for the soulless things. She could put on a brave face all she wanted, but with each passing day, the hope that this time would be different from her other self's world--that the Brand wouldn't work how it should--became harder and harder to muster.
When a spasm rippled through her shoulder and the Brand burned, Freya knew her time was up, and the fear packed beneath the surface burst through to seize her. That was all the invitation the Brand needed. Ragnarok had come.
[Penelope - Morning]
The paint can clattered to dirt as Freya clutched her right shoulder, fingers clutching at the skin through the fabric as though she could suppress the Brand's blazing light if she just pressed hard enough.
"No," was out of her mouth before she could stop it, somewhere between forceful and quiet, and several more desperately murmured no followed as Freya fell to a knee. Not here. Not now, not where Pen could see, their little pact about Freya's curse be damned. She was lucky, probably, for this to happen at the camp grounds, away from the city, but...
A little more time. Just a little more time.
WHERE: Campground, outskirts of Recolle, beginning of the road to Magatus
WHEN: May 20th
WHAT: Freya turns into Ragnarok, and Ragnarok is not friendly.
WARNINGS: Violence
[[Important! If you would like an encounter with Ragnarok, please contact me by PM or at
One arrow. Another. The next.
They came slower once Freya had sorted out her feelings about the cursed mark, but they still came. Every week, more of that reddening eye stared back at her in the mirror. It was thoughts of Ryoji, both of his monstrous side and his return from death that kept Freya sane.
But those thoughts didn't dismiss the fear of the creature that awaited her, or her other self's despise and heart-wrenching pity for the soulless things. She could put on a brave face all she wanted, but with each passing day, the hope that this time would be different from her other self's world--that the Brand wouldn't work how it should--became harder and harder to muster.
When a spasm rippled through her shoulder and the Brand burned, Freya knew her time was up, and the fear packed beneath the surface burst through to seize her. That was all the invitation the Brand needed. Ragnarok had come.
[Penelope - Morning]
The paint can clattered to dirt as Freya clutched her right shoulder, fingers clutching at the skin through the fabric as though she could suppress the Brand's blazing light if she just pressed hard enough.
"No," was out of her mouth before she could stop it, somewhere between forceful and quiet, and several more desperately murmured no followed as Freya fell to a knee. Not here. Not now, not where Pen could see, their little pact about Freya's curse be damned. She was lucky, probably, for this to happen at the camp grounds, away from the city, but...
A little more time. Just a little more time.
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Fear isn't as distant as she'd like, and pain too. The rage...the almost-Freya like face...and the blankness of it are troubling. It's little better than an animal, and being this close only solidifies that.
When the claw rises, Pen's enhanced reflexes are all that keep her head in place. She jerks her head to one side at the last instant, the claw catching the tip of her braid and shearing off the end.
...just as Shiva's attack slams into the distracted monster's side. A wave of ice a dozen feet thick and ten feet wide launched at the Yahri's waist height smashes into the creature, passing harmlessly over Penelope and moving with enough force to send Ragnarok flying. Pen kips up as soon as she's free, the bubble reforming quickly.
"Thanks, Shiva."
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But the spell is soon broken, and Ragnarok pushed itself back to a four-legged stance, glowering at the newcomer.
Then it's off again in a burst of speed, dashing towards Pen and Shiva, finishing the charge with a flip and downward strike of its tail.
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Shiva follows up with a volley of crystalline shards, hoarfrost spears as long as a man's arm seeking to prevent the monster from evading Penelope's attack.
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Ragnarok swept it tail against the volley, smashing a majority of the shards out of the air; the foot and knee strikes connected with sparks, but the third... the Cie'th's hand caught the Zodiac Spear, elongated hand curling around the haft with a vice grip.
The most it could do from here was sweep its tail again, throwing a random assortment of unpainted ground debris at the Yahri.
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The monster's attack on Shiva batters a hastily constructed cocoon of ice, the spirit taking a few shards of rock that don't seem to slow it too much. It answers with another attack, a massive icicle forming behind Ragnarok and driving down towards it's back.
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Her hands, now free, lob another Scourge at it, slashing energy tendrils lashing out at it's face and arms, trying to clear a path through it's guard.
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--and missed, just barely, claws scratching the spear's haft before it struck. Ragnarok screamed, it's low tones picking up an echo of some unnatural, discordant wail. It swung at Pen and Shiva, but the motion was more of a flailing one as it crumpled to its knees, hunch over its wound.
Ragnarok heaved for breath it didn't need, it's limbs periodically shuddering.
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This had to end. The spear came back in, this strike trying for another penetrating blow while Pen and Shiva both launched more spells. A wave of ice and another Scourge, trying to create another crack in the creature's crystalline exoskeleton for the weapon to aim for.
She has to end this, and soon. She can already feel the energy drinks wearing off.
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It leapt explosively to the side just in time to avoid taking anything more than a single lash of the Scourge--but there was a slight unsteadiness to the dodge, the creature skittering slightly across the forest floor in contrast to is previously precise motions. Claws dug into the ground to correct course, and Ragnarok charged headlong at Pen with a scream and a swing.
It's a desperate blow, full of channeled rage and pain, but a square one--and despite being all the Cie'th had to give, was a shadow of the strength that threw Cu Chuliann and clove cleanly through trees. The glow in Ragnarok dulled, the crystal reverting to its original black, rock-like texture, and the beast did not stop; it shot past Penelope, fleeing from the floodlight into the depths of the night.
But it wasn't long before another sharp crack! of wood sounded--a small one, more akin to a thick branch than an entire tree. Another, in the distance, and a frustrated growl. And another, and another, growing more distant but more frequent as the fleeing Cie'th kept colliding with (or through) the unpainted landscape at the heart of Recolle's forest.
Then, silence.
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The noise coming from the forest is dreadful and terrifying, and if it were anyone else out there, she wouldn't have pursued. But she does, because some things are worth more than her life. Because the other would have done the same for her. Because it's Freya...
Swiftly moving, Shiva first, frigid weyrlight casting strange shadows in the unpainted woods. It's easy to follow the shredded trail of ground where Ragnarok had moved. Ahead they forge, looking for any sign of their assailant.
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But the only sound as they followed the path was their footsteps and breath. No glow, no crashing, no howls, no projectiles. After a minute or two, depending on the duo's speed, the path dropped off down a steep incline, a form laid still at the bottom: a form distinctly lacking in orange and red, shallowly breathing, and face-down in the undergrowth.
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When she reaches the bottom, the fat monster steps out of the air in a swirl of mist, already complying with Pen's command to heal. Dropping to her knees, she presses a hand to Freya's neck, checking for a pulse as the massive drop of healing energy envelopes the area.
"Freya? Baby? Are you...?!" she breaks off, looking for any sign of life.
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But it's something.
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Arms slide under Freya, the suit and her bracelet making the bigger woman more manageable despite how ungainly it is. Carrying her in both arms, Pen starts towards the ship....
"I'm not letting you go. Not after all that. You lived. You're gonna keep on living, dammit," she grunts, beginning the move up the slope.
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She stirred a bit when she's lifted; it's warm. The sensations, and the familiarity of it all subconsciously pick at a vivid memory...
("How many times must you fail?")
Freya jolted suddenly, half-tumbling out of Penelope's grip, a weak and clumsy strike thudding uselessly against her armor.
The fright's strength was short-lived. Freya's legs buckled the moment they touched the ground and she collapsed in a dazed heap. Thoughts swirled uselessly in her mind. What was going on? Did she dream of Orphan again? Why wasn't anything coming into focus?
"Where--"
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"You're with me. Your brand opened...you changed, and I beat you. It's over, Freya. You are safe, and we're going home."
That was all the truth, the gospel, gods-honest truth. And it felt damn good to say it.
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A few moments of breathing pass before any of that makes sense. Her brand. Freya's hand fumbles up to her shoulder, but her fingers only find the pair of scars on her shoulder. Duh--as if she'd be able to see it in the dark, let alone feel it.
(But it had changed. White, arrowless and faded at the edges. The diamond of the eye faintly etched in the center.)
They'd been camping. Freya had told her to run. But... What happened? Where was the rest of it?
Freya hurt, in that deep bone ache sort of way, especially her chest. Maybe Pen really did beat it. A faint smile twitches onto her face once her panic about the brand recedes.
"Th's my girl."
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"Damn right I am. A far cry from hunting tomatoes, but it's done."
Pen slowly began to try and move them along, towards the ship.
"You don't look injured...just...I think you need to rest."
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Even if it became immediately clear that Freya was holding herself up almost entirely with her arms, and they trembled every few steps, lacking their usual strength.
She was too cripplingly weary to be properly relieved, but... A little of it was there. She was still here. She was human.
"Thank you," Freya mumbled.
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"Anytime. I'm here for you, dear."
Steady despite her own weariness, Pen inhales deeply...
"Thank you for coming back to me."
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"Can't get rid've me th't easy."
She inhales, relishing in Penelope's scent, even if it's muddled under the armor, dirt, and those sickeningly sweet energy drinks of hers. Together with her voice and the light banter, the familiarity's a siren call, promising warmth and safety and rest, and Freya was so, so very tired.
It's a good thing Pen was watching for it, because a few steps beyond the crest of the incline, Freya's grip goes slack, and she slips back into unconsciousness.
2 days later
The Alraune hops up onto the bed next to the sleeping lump that is Freya, scaling her like a hill and walking along her torso on light feet to look her in the eye. It remembers her pretty well, and has always been fond of her. It's a little sad seeing her like this, it thinks, so it bends down to rub her cheek with one sackcloth hand...
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Upon retrieval, Freya'd been completely out cold--understandable, given everything she'd gone through. At some point between the first and second night, she'd started shifting in the definite signs of sleep instead of "dead to the world."
That said, unfortunately for the small Alraune, it was a pretty deep sleep. The sackcloth hand was a subconscious annoyance more than anything.
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It's relieved too, and Tons will be even more relieved. Why, he's been working on a present for Freya even!
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