[tobias & avith & silas]: good night, sweet prince
Who: Tobias, Avith & Silas
When: August 10th, afternoon, after this post
Where: The Citadel
Ratings & Warnings: Death and sadness!
Also Max ruins the mood like a hundred times.
Silas's boldness did nothing but rile Tobias. How dare he. The time had come to deal with the hound once and for all. He wrote sparingly to Brother William as he dressed himself the rest of the way, taking his time to make sure his leathers were fastened and sword and dagger tightly sheathed at hip. He took the stairs two at a time down, speeding straight for the frog pond. Avith seemed to like it there, a token of his homeland often forgotten in the city. How the frogs had multiplied he did not know, but he suspected his brother had something to do with it.
"Avith!" he called out, eyes roaming everywhere as he searched for him. A clutch of frightened initiates shuffled past, whispering about not wanting to be near the door incase the hellhound got in. Tobias frowned at their backs; he should have told William to gather them as well. "Avith!"
He had been where Tobias predicted he would be, reading his own ledger, frowning briefly at Moirine's response. He had hoped she would not notice that he had not answered her concerning her brother, but it had been a foolish hope. He did not look forward to the conversation.
But because he'd had his ledger with him, he noted the new entries as they came. And when Silas' finally came up, he felt his stomach drop. Isvelle. He had not spoken to her since Powell's death. He had, in a way, been afraid to. True, he had been busy, but it was no great task to go to the laundry room and ask a simple question. Or to write a question over the ledgers.
He finished his own entry and tucked his ledger safely away on his person, just in time to hear Tobias calling his name, clearly in a hurry due to the familiarity in which he called him. He was ready. He was always ready. But that did not make him any more eager to engage the thing. "Here," he said, his voice loud, sharp with that single word, and he went to join Tobias just as he came to enter the courtyard. "Cita protect us," he muttered.
It had been near (or an entire) decade since he'd had a companion in real battle. Cancellari train until their fingers bleed, but rarely do they have to come to the Occia's defense. Old habits returned without so much of a blink of recognition. The heightened heartbeat, the rub of his fingers together in anticipation. He about-faced to follow Avith to the door without a word. It was only when they neared the door that he suddenly turned off again and sprinted away with a murmur to wait. The kitchens were not so far off. In less than five minutes time he returned with a skin of water.
"It hurts the beast," he muttered, and clutched the top of it tightly. He stared at the door and gave a final nod, then pushed through it.
But not before they put on their stunna shades and also kicked the door open and slowwalked out to Silas to the Kill Bill Soundtrack.
Silas was standing there, hands neatly clasped in front of him, feet set in a wide stance. The ledger dangled from one hand, but it soon dropped, its tattered cover becoming even more soiled in the dirt. He beamed at the two men as they emerged, his gaze only lingering on Avith for a second before his attention focused solely on Tobias.
His smile went wide, too wide as his body stretched, transforming itself into that of a hound. He didn't bother with the pretense of disguising the transformation, this time-- it was already broad daylight, and this was already the end. Briefly, he squinted up at the building behind the men as the music continued to play in the background, but he couldn't recognize any of the faces in the windows.
Oh well. He'd just have to go in there himself, once this was over. The odds weren't necessarily in his favor, but Silas was feeling good about it all the same. Tobias wouldn't be able to trick him, this time. "It is about time, book-man. This will not take long, I promise."
He had given one final look to his ledger, catching his name from- who?- he couldn't see in time before Tobias had reemerged, and stuffed it away again. He went through a mental checklist of all he had on him and walked a step behind Tobias, at his shoulder, and stepped out into the daylight.
Taking his shades off Avith exchanged glances with the beast, but said nothing. Isvelle's secret was his to keep. This batle would serve a twofold purpose.
While the dog spoke, he drew his sword, lifted it to press the cool steel to his forehead, already warm as the anticipation of battle stirred in his blood, and with the briefest prayer sent upwards he rushed forward to engage the hellhound.
Fighting ensued. After some fighting, some more fighting was still going on:
The fire hound knew how to play. He'd just struck Tobias where he knew it would hurt - his injured hand. The Cancellarius had howled to feel teeth clamp around the new flesh, feeling a scratch and burn of his breath even through the glove. His weapon was lost momentarily as he rolled. The black mass had moved onto Avith. Tobias beat his smoldering glove against the ground to make sure it did not catch flame, flexing his fingers rapidly. There was no more new damage. It had just hurt.
A lot.
Silas wasn't sure how he'd gotten backed up against the door of the Citadel-- an ill-timed phase to get behind Avith, perhaps. A shame that it was largely unsuccessful, given how he'd underestimated human reflexes. By this point, he was irritated, with how long things had been going on; two versus one hadn't seemed like poor odds at the start, but the cancellari knew what they were doing. Logically, he should have ran once he saw two people exit to deal with him; Silas had long since committed himself to see this out to the end.
The problem really was, the beast was beginning to tire.
He growled experimentally in Avith's direction, as a test, flames bursting out-- oh, if only he could actually breathe fire! But Avith would not be cowed, and the hound knew he had to make his next move count, lest it be his last. He tensed and sprang suddenly, forelegs splayed wide to try and deflect any slashes at something vital, jaws seeking the man's throat.
Avith was strong, to be sure.
But Silas was stronger, and he'd get there eventually. (>:E!!!!!)
Part of him knew that they were too close to the Citadel. That just made this all the more important. He had thrown himself completely into the fight, everything he had learned and everything he had been taught taking over rational thought processes that would have allowed for any sense of self-preservation. It did not take long for the smile to surface, for his movements to become faster and more reckless, his blows harder and the pain lessening each time he was hit. If anything, it infuriated him more and drove him to attack even more viciously. And once he got going, Avith did not play fair.
But something about being so close to the Citadel, to hear Tobias' voice from time to time, helped him to retain some sense of his sanity. He had lost his own sword someplace and had switched to the short knives he kept in his cloak. He had some burns from the blood he had managed to spill off the dog, but the pain would come later. For now, it was only annoyance. When the dog stepped back, he let it. When Silas growled, he grinned widely and taunted him with a "come hither" motion with one of his knives, and the dog jumped at him.
Unafraid, it was difficult to perceive the danger he was in, so close to Silas. That by no means meant that he would let the dog clamp its jaws down on his head. He managed to grab hold of the dog's jaws, almost as though if he could, he could force them open, crack the dog's jaw. Blue eyes wide with a joy fed by bloodlust, he dug his feet into the ground and pushed back, unable to use either of his own weapons now that they were busy fending off flaming dog slobber fangs as long as his hand.
This- this was exactly what he had not wanted to happen. Avith did not play fair, but neither did Hellhounds. His stomach flipped to see them locked together, grappling for dominance and who would snap who's head away. His fingers closed around his fallen sword before he knew what he was doing, climbing to his feet. They were both straining. The was no room between them. No way around them. "Avith!"
It was useless. To try and separate them now would mean fatal injuries for himself and whichever turned away to deliver them first.
The horror of what he was about to do crossed his mind as he staggered towards them, grip tight around his weapon's handle. The silent prayer he sent skyward before he stabbed had nothing to do with Cita. Please forgive me, brother. The blade slid cleanly through Avith's flesh into Silas' mouth, and with a noise that sounded somewhere between a grunt and sob he smacked the pommel forward with his injured hand to send the blade further in and up into the hound's head.
One second, and it was over.
Silas wrenched himself from Avith with a warbling, desperate howl, staggering back into the Citadel's door and nearly falling. Even as he braced himself, it wasn't enough, and already he could feel his legs failing, his vision dimming. Any other beast would have been slain outright, but whatever supernatural, ominous forces that held the hellhound together kept him up just long enough to look up at Tobias, over Avith's shoulder, really look--
For the briefest of moments, Silas was nothing more than a dog, mangy and tired, his empty gaze boring into Tobias.
Why? He wanted to say the words, but the only thing that worked its way out of his throat was a gob of flame. He spat, he coughed. Why did you hate me? All he'd wanted to do was...
The beast slumped to the ground, and Silas Bergost was no more.
Silence settled in the courtyard for the briefest of moments before his body shook, the magics that bound fire into flesh dissolving all in an instant. The sudden burst of force and energy and flame was certainly a spectacle to behold-- at least, for those who weren't caught in it.
The sudden, unexpected pain, the unseen source of it, made everything go blank a moment. The sound he made, a cry of pain and rage that escaped him, was lost in the death keen of the hellhound. And it was only the hound's howling that kept Avith, who had likewise stopped struggling, from having his head snapped off.
He slumped back against Tobias as Silas slid back the other way, the berserker rage draining out of him. He could feel fire on his skin, the blood of the beast sliding down the sword. The sword? He looked at it pierced through his upper chest, so close as to have almost cut through his shoulder. He staggered, his legs giving way as his strength, spent from overexhertion, began to leave him. He was confused, but could not form coherent thought. Even with Tobias' grip on the hilt of the sword he fell, unable to keep upright, shock keeping him from realizing what had just happened, and what was about to.
In fact, blacking out made certain he did not see it.
When: August 10th, afternoon, after this post
Where: The Citadel
Ratings & Warnings: Death and sadness!
Also Max ruins the mood like a hundred times.
Silas's boldness did nothing but rile Tobias. How dare he. The time had come to deal with the hound once and for all. He wrote sparingly to Brother William as he dressed himself the rest of the way, taking his time to make sure his leathers were fastened and sword and dagger tightly sheathed at hip. He took the stairs two at a time down, speeding straight for the frog pond. Avith seemed to like it there, a token of his homeland often forgotten in the city. How the frogs had multiplied he did not know, but he suspected his brother had something to do with it.
"Avith!" he called out, eyes roaming everywhere as he searched for him. A clutch of frightened initiates shuffled past, whispering about not wanting to be near the door incase the hellhound got in. Tobias frowned at their backs; he should have told William to gather them as well. "Avith!"
He had been where Tobias predicted he would be, reading his own ledger, frowning briefly at Moirine's response. He had hoped she would not notice that he had not answered her concerning her brother, but it had been a foolish hope. He did not look forward to the conversation.
But because he'd had his ledger with him, he noted the new entries as they came. And when Silas' finally came up, he felt his stomach drop. Isvelle. He had not spoken to her since Powell's death. He had, in a way, been afraid to. True, he had been busy, but it was no great task to go to the laundry room and ask a simple question. Or to write a question over the ledgers.
He finished his own entry and tucked his ledger safely away on his person, just in time to hear Tobias calling his name, clearly in a hurry due to the familiarity in which he called him. He was ready. He was always ready. But that did not make him any more eager to engage the thing. "Here," he said, his voice loud, sharp with that single word, and he went to join Tobias just as he came to enter the courtyard. "Cita protect us," he muttered.
It had been near (or an entire) decade since he'd had a companion in real battle. Cancellari train until their fingers bleed, but rarely do they have to come to the Occia's defense. Old habits returned without so much of a blink of recognition. The heightened heartbeat, the rub of his fingers together in anticipation. He about-faced to follow Avith to the door without a word. It was only when they neared the door that he suddenly turned off again and sprinted away with a murmur to wait. The kitchens were not so far off. In less than five minutes time he returned with a skin of water.
"It hurts the beast," he muttered, and clutched the top of it tightly. He stared at the door and gave a final nod, then pushed through it.
But not before they put on their stunna shades and also kicked the door open and slowwalked out to Silas to the Kill Bill Soundtrack.
Silas was standing there, hands neatly clasped in front of him, feet set in a wide stance. The ledger dangled from one hand, but it soon dropped, its tattered cover becoming even more soiled in the dirt. He beamed at the two men as they emerged, his gaze only lingering on Avith for a second before his attention focused solely on Tobias.
His smile went wide, too wide as his body stretched, transforming itself into that of a hound. He didn't bother with the pretense of disguising the transformation, this time-- it was already broad daylight, and this was already the end. Briefly, he squinted up at the building behind the men as the music continued to play in the background, but he couldn't recognize any of the faces in the windows.
Oh well. He'd just have to go in there himself, once this was over. The odds weren't necessarily in his favor, but Silas was feeling good about it all the same. Tobias wouldn't be able to trick him, this time. "It is about time, book-man. This will not take long, I promise."
He had given one final look to his ledger, catching his name from- who?- he couldn't see in time before Tobias had reemerged, and stuffed it away again. He went through a mental checklist of all he had on him and walked a step behind Tobias, at his shoulder, and stepped out into the daylight.
Taking his shades off Avith exchanged glances with the beast, but said nothing. Isvelle's secret was his to keep. This batle would serve a twofold purpose.
While the dog spoke, he drew his sword, lifted it to press the cool steel to his forehead, already warm as the anticipation of battle stirred in his blood, and with the briefest prayer sent upwards he rushed forward to engage the hellhound.
Fighting ensued. After some fighting, some more fighting was still going on:
The fire hound knew how to play. He'd just struck Tobias where he knew it would hurt - his injured hand. The Cancellarius had howled to feel teeth clamp around the new flesh, feeling a scratch and burn of his breath even through the glove. His weapon was lost momentarily as he rolled. The black mass had moved onto Avith. Tobias beat his smoldering glove against the ground to make sure it did not catch flame, flexing his fingers rapidly. There was no more new damage. It had just hurt.
A lot.
Silas wasn't sure how he'd gotten backed up against the door of the Citadel-- an ill-timed phase to get behind Avith, perhaps. A shame that it was largely unsuccessful, given how he'd underestimated human reflexes. By this point, he was irritated, with how long things had been going on; two versus one hadn't seemed like poor odds at the start, but the cancellari knew what they were doing. Logically, he should have ran once he saw two people exit to deal with him; Silas had long since committed himself to see this out to the end.
The problem really was, the beast was beginning to tire.
He growled experimentally in Avith's direction, as a test, flames bursting out-- oh, if only he could actually breathe fire! But Avith would not be cowed, and the hound knew he had to make his next move count, lest it be his last. He tensed and sprang suddenly, forelegs splayed wide to try and deflect any slashes at something vital, jaws seeking the man's throat.
Avith was strong, to be sure.
But Silas was stronger, and he'd get there eventually. (>:E!!!!!)
Part of him knew that they were too close to the Citadel. That just made this all the more important. He had thrown himself completely into the fight, everything he had learned and everything he had been taught taking over rational thought processes that would have allowed for any sense of self-preservation. It did not take long for the smile to surface, for his movements to become faster and more reckless, his blows harder and the pain lessening each time he was hit. If anything, it infuriated him more and drove him to attack even more viciously. And once he got going, Avith did not play fair.
But something about being so close to the Citadel, to hear Tobias' voice from time to time, helped him to retain some sense of his sanity. He had lost his own sword someplace and had switched to the short knives he kept in his cloak. He had some burns from the blood he had managed to spill off the dog, but the pain would come later. For now, it was only annoyance. When the dog stepped back, he let it. When Silas growled, he grinned widely and taunted him with a "come hither" motion with one of his knives, and the dog jumped at him.
Unafraid, it was difficult to perceive the danger he was in, so close to Silas. That by no means meant that he would let the dog clamp its jaws down on his head. He managed to grab hold of the dog's jaws, almost as though if he could, he could force them open, crack the dog's jaw. Blue eyes wide with a joy fed by bloodlust, he dug his feet into the ground and pushed back, unable to use either of his own weapons now that they were busy fending off flaming dog slobber fangs as long as his hand.
This- this was exactly what he had not wanted to happen. Avith did not play fair, but neither did Hellhounds. His stomach flipped to see them locked together, grappling for dominance and who would snap who's head away. His fingers closed around his fallen sword before he knew what he was doing, climbing to his feet. They were both straining. The was no room between them. No way around them. "Avith!"
It was useless. To try and separate them now would mean fatal injuries for himself and whichever turned away to deliver them first.
The horror of what he was about to do crossed his mind as he staggered towards them, grip tight around his weapon's handle. The silent prayer he sent skyward before he stabbed had nothing to do with Cita. Please forgive me, brother. The blade slid cleanly through Avith's flesh into Silas' mouth, and with a noise that sounded somewhere between a grunt and sob he smacked the pommel forward with his injured hand to send the blade further in and up into the hound's head.
One second, and it was over.
Silas wrenched himself from Avith with a warbling, desperate howl, staggering back into the Citadel's door and nearly falling. Even as he braced himself, it wasn't enough, and already he could feel his legs failing, his vision dimming. Any other beast would have been slain outright, but whatever supernatural, ominous forces that held the hellhound together kept him up just long enough to look up at Tobias, over Avith's shoulder, really look--
For the briefest of moments, Silas was nothing more than a dog, mangy and tired, his empty gaze boring into Tobias.
Why? He wanted to say the words, but the only thing that worked its way out of his throat was a gob of flame. He spat, he coughed. Why did you hate me? All he'd wanted to do was...
The beast slumped to the ground, and Silas Bergost was no more.
Silence settled in the courtyard for the briefest of moments before his body shook, the magics that bound fire into flesh dissolving all in an instant. The sudden burst of force and energy and flame was certainly a spectacle to behold-- at least, for those who weren't caught in it.
The sudden, unexpected pain, the unseen source of it, made everything go blank a moment. The sound he made, a cry of pain and rage that escaped him, was lost in the death keen of the hellhound. And it was only the hound's howling that kept Avith, who had likewise stopped struggling, from having his head snapped off.
He slumped back against Tobias as Silas slid back the other way, the berserker rage draining out of him. He could feel fire on his skin, the blood of the beast sliding down the sword. The sword? He looked at it pierced through his upper chest, so close as to have almost cut through his shoulder. He staggered, his legs giving way as his strength, spent from overexhertion, began to leave him. He was confused, but could not form coherent thought. Even with Tobias' grip on the hilt of the sword he fell, unable to keep upright, shock keeping him from realizing what had just happened, and what was about to.
In fact, blacking out made certain he did not see it.