Video ❖ 1
[The sound of choking and spitting is heard before the screen displays a blur of fuchsia and red. It's the red that lingers, however, as a hand unconsciously touches the screen, leaving behind three streaks of blood before it then presses on an open wound. To anyone familiar with firearms, it will probably be obvious that she has been shot several
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She has seen more than I have.]
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He could laugh, were he not feeling empty and sick to the heart at once.
Oh, sister, that it came to this -
(He'd always known.)
That he might be the last person she wants to see does not matter. She is his sister, his sister and he is going to her side, because she is not going to die.
It's as simple as that really, his reasoning, but now he speaks up.
(Now he trusts his voice.)
And when he does speak, his voice is abrupt, sharp, perhaps moreso than it has been. It's not panic, never panic, but it's something like it - the urgency is raw.]
Cornelia. Don't move. A medic will be with you shortly.
[And so will I.
He raises his voice a little, to catch attention.]
Myhrta, I will need your help.
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[She has the tact not to say 'Your presence is not,' as clearly, from that tone (minute as it might be), this woman means much to him. Myhrta switches to travel form and tears from the village to the Temple as quickly as she can.]
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Can this place be... is it real? Did he bring her here? No. Such a thing would be impossible. There is no way he could have transported her after the Gatling was fired. Not so quickly. Not to some foreign land that feels more like a dream than reality.
She's still looking around, her eyes briefly landing on the communication device sitting a few feet away from her. She struggles to move closer to it, wondering if she is just hearing things or if the unfamiliar piece of technology just spoke to her. When she speaks, her tongue is coated with blood, making her voice barely audible. But it is not without resentment]
Where... are you?
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I am on my way. Circumstances have changed, Cornelia, and I will explain that change when you are in a better position to receive it.
[- He can't remember the last time he ran like this, almost feels like a boy again, sixteen and doing track at school. It's a sobering, almost wrenching thought, but while he is not immune to emotion - worry, regret, and a withdrawn, far off pain - he is not someone to be controlled by it.]
There's someone coming to you who will be able to help you. She'll arrive shortly.
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Please do not be alarmed, my lady. I am the village healer, and am here to help.
[She holds up her hands, marveling inwardly that she can so easily take on that role as a part of who she is. Not Myhrta of Darnassus, not Myhrta, Druid of Restoration, but Myhrta, the village healer.
Needs must when the fel lords drive. She put it from her mind and knelt beside Cornelia.]
Forgive me. I need to lay my hands on you.
[It didn't take a genius to know that bullets were involved, but smaller, different bullets from those fired from the blunderblusses of Azeroth. How many there were, she couldn't say.
And she'd need to find out and get rid of any that remained in the body, if it came to it.]
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It's then that she hears the distant sound of what she can only guess is an animal before the approaching beast comes into view. She doesn't have time to be alarmed by its speed because before she can even raise her gun-sword, it seems to have shifted shape in a blurring instant. But what it becomes is something even more terrible. A cross between a human and a monster, with purple skin and glowing eyes.
Cornelia's mouth falls open, eyes widening, even as she hears the creature speaking to her. Impossible. She keeps repeating the word in her ( ... )
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When he appears at the top of the path, he stops, just for a moment, and takes in the sight. She is his sister, and he has done this, and he should look at this and see it and remember it as one more sacrifice.
(He is not his father. None of this is trivial.)
He's panting, breathing roughened by the run, but his voice still rings clear, commanding: princely as ever.]
Cornelia. Lower your weapon.
[It crosses his mind that she might just aim it on him, for a second. But he knows her better, always has, and he's already moving again, running (like a boy again, pomp and circumstance dropped) to the other side of his sister, where she lies on earth ( ... )
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It still doesn't stop the prickle of anger; too much time spent around the Horde has not endeared her well to the humans, her Azerothian allies, who still look at her as if she emerged from the Nightmare.
Still, she schools her face to calm, allows Schneizel to take over, hoping he can calm her before she is forced to heal without properly examining what's wrong.]
My lady, please. I mean you no harm; you are gravely injured, and I wish to help.
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(Her resourcefulness and tenacity would make him smile at any other time.)
He looks from her to Myhrta only briefly.
He engineered this. He knows what has happened. There is no doubt in his mind.]
There was a maximum of eight shots fired, presumably at close range.
[But no killshots among them. He'd been so very careful of that, and would not see his caution go to waste.]
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Schneizel!
[ She had recognized the white long before she drew that close. That Schneizel himself should show, and without his aide was, is a surprise, but it isn't one she lets show on her face as she approaches. The magical tree is by-far more likely to evoke a clear, visible reaction than this. The questions running through her mind only grow as she steps forward. This scene... makes her pause in her tracks no more than three steps following her halt.
This is -- ]
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