𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐡𝐢 🌼 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hearthwarming) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
crescentview2023-02-07 08:20 pm
hearthwarming) wrote in crescentview2023-02-07 08:20 pm
🏝️ dulces sueños group excursion! 🏝️
🏝️ who: intrepid adventurers (vacationers?) and more!
🏝️ what: ori organized (origanized?) a group trip to the resort! mass memshare ensues.
🏝️ when: fall 9-10
🏝️ where: dulces sueños resort
🏝️ warnings: threads will be marked as needed for memshares.
( This is the ill-fated massextinction memshare event. Please refer to the event for details on the resort and the plotting post for any specific details for characters' memshares! There are toplevels for each area of the resort (and for the memshare). Enjoy! )
🏝️ what: ori organized (origanized?) a group trip to the resort! mass memshare ensues.
🏝️ when: fall 9-10
🏝️ where: dulces sueños resort
🏝️ warnings: threads will be marked as needed for memshares.
[ Hopefully everyone had fun on the Arco Lunar! The morning after the boat departs from the docks, a letter arrives to your mailbox: ]
Hello, intrepid adventurer!
I am excited to have you along for a group excursion to the mysterious new island! In two days' time, let us gather in the town square and set off from there! Please be prepared to stay the night. It will be so fulfilling and memorable for everyone to spend a night on an adventure together!
If you have any questions or concerns, please come find me at my flower shop in town or at the forest farm where I live!
Sincerely,
Oriphi
[ If she accidentally delivered it to a few wrong mailboxes, then... Oops!
On the promised day, once everyone (and likely a few surprise tag-alongs) has gathered or been gathered, Ori distributes little paper bags of snacks to everyone. Inside are cookies, oat snacks, and a freshly-picked apple from her and M-21's orchard. Do with them as you please... Just don't let her catch you throwing it into the sea or something. 🥺 ]
Alright. I think we should head out, then! Thanks for coming along, everyone! I hope it'll be a great time. Oh, and please don't forget to drink plenty of water and use this incredible ointment I discovered on this island! It's called "sunscreen!" Tieflings don't really get sunburnt, but you should use it!
[ And with that our intrepid adventurers set off to the mysterious, dangerous, unknowable... resort island! ]
( This is the ill-fated mass
no subject
Your heart doesn't react to his taunt either, knowing that isn't true. But their search for information in the desert should be coming to an end, and this is where you would meet. But Balthazar doesn't need to know that--
Around the entire edge of the platform flames suddenly erupt--thick, too tall to leap over, and completely obscuring your view. To jump through them, even to attempt to descend with your glider, would almost certainly be death.
"What do you say we take things a little more slowly this time?" With his hand raised he materializes a large, imposing greatsword. And then he swings it horizontal, sending a wave of fire your direction.]
no subject
He continues to shift backwards, gaze flickering around whilst keeping the other in the corner of his vision...until the red-hot of flickering flame licks at his back, and he leaps forward to hiss and toss a glance backwards. They run the whole length of the platform, effectively blocking off escape, and he is not particularly eager to feel the sensation of his ( Syrlya's? ) skin burning again. Considering the Sylvari, it may be even worse.
The voice has his attention snapping up, and he tightens his grip on the weapons reflexively even before the sword comes into view. He crouches, tensing up in preparation, so that when the wave of fire comes he can leap out of the way- although it clips the edges of Syrlya's cloak, Adelis slightly unbalanced from the unfamiliarity the weight of the weapons offer.
Rather than rush and engage, he sticks closer to the edges of the arena, but not close enough to tempt the flame. He has room here, this can work...for a while. But he will need to think of something else in due time, with the tools he has been afforded...that much he can feel.
Ugh. Syrlya, why can't you be a rogue or something. ]
CW: Torture
Flames frequently block your path, burn holes into your fabric and melt pieces of metal against your skin. The swing of his sword clips your leg, then your shoulder, tearing deep oozing gashes--these small wounds add up, but so long as you're prepared to shoulder them they cannot stop you. Your body is used to this. And your heart is determined not to--
it's one mistimed action. Maybe it takes two minutes. Maybe it takes ten. But eventually the unrelenting assault with catch up to you as a dense ball of fire half your height and twice your width slams into your body. The impact rapidly melts your armor to your skin, the impact being felt down to your core. Your arm catches fire in the blaze and the flames tickle your face as they begin to burn down to blacken your skin. Leaves curl away into ash leaving the sensitive fresh skin underneath open to the fire and the dust and it feels like thousands of pins being forced into you. Your sword becomes impossible to hold.
Another wave of fire hits and knocks you off your feet as it rolls up your body. Your throat feels like ash as you struggle to breath. You can see Balthazar approaching, but your limbs struggle to respond.
He stops just short of your feet, lips curled in a sneer. You can see... you've disappointed him, haven't you? The familiar disgust of something--someone that fails to live to your expectations. You are small. Unworthy.
"So quick to falter. Stand up!" His hand gestures over you and your entire body burns from deep within, like being incinerated in reverse. But instead of burning away, you flesh begins to painfully mend back together. Not all of your wounds--only just enough that you can find the strength, past the pain, to stand. To block. To do anything before the sword he has raised strikes you again.
"We're not finished yet."
It starts again.
"Never defy a god!"
You can't tell how long this goes on.
"Suffer a little more loudly. Cry out! Let everyone hear!"
Your limbs, your hips, your torso are reduced to ashes and wood and regrown again.
"... I do enjoy these little get-togethers. You're proving to be quite useful."
Your sap sticks uncomfortably from gaping wounds. Your body wants... to...
Stop.]
no subject
It's hot. His clothes burns, the metal melts and clings to the waxy skin, and a burning sword slices straight through the light armor and through him, the cool smear of wax far too unlike the hot drip of blood. There is an urge in the back of his head, frustrating, and it is here where he blinks and there is fire fire fire-
He's been hit with fireballs before. They ache, but he can avoid most of the damage, even if the burns are deep and ache from within, but this is not the same. He cannot dodge it. There is no flesh and muscle, no stench of burnt flesh, but it hurts all the same. The sword slips from his grip, rippling, burning agony searing through him at another wave of fire, and he has to bite down on his tongue to suffocate a scream as he hits the floor hard.
He hates the way he looks at him. Like the kindred do, staring at their cattle- useful for only their singular purpose, and nothing more. He is reminded why he has no respect for gods, as he steps closer, and he hates the furious despair that churns in his gut alongside the rage.
His insides twist violently, unnaturally hot and like he'd swallowed a dozen needles, and whilst his flesh mends, it is not a kindness. This he knows, even as he gets to his feet, and he has barely enough time before the sword comes for him again.
And again. And again. And again. The voice rings in his ears until it nigh all he can hear above the sound of his own flesh burning, and then it fades out to something else as he once again falls as his flesh burns.
He is back in those catacombs, the remains of an ancient city looming over them over a dining table. The man at the front of the table sheds his skin, peeling back bloodlessly from bone, and there is nothing but a dawning sense of dread as his hand raises. Even when he hides, it does not help him, and the bright flash of light burns his eyes and skins and bonesandmuscles-
He is alive. Barely. But he will not be for long, not whilst his skin is torn open, not whilst the sensation of burning from the inside and the outside rips him apart over and over and over. His body wants to stop.
But Adelis is vindictive. Full of rage, even when full of fear. He doesn't cry, scream, weep. He cannot run, he cannot lift his sword anymore, but his eyes are still wide and wild. ]
...Spineless bloodsack. [ He spits it on the ground, with the dribble of sap past his lips. It is Syrlya's voice, but it is Adelis' bite, even though he feels his tongue is made of charcoal. ] You would only be useful with your bloated head skinned and on a fucking pike-
no subject
The words are harsh, and although it all Adelis the sentiment isn't completely unshared. But unfortunately, all that heart in the world can do nothing against raw power.
In your weakened state, you can't prevent the blade that slices through your leg below the knee, so deep it breaks the bone and almost servers it. You can't stop your body from falling into the flames still licking the ground, burning anew the edges of your skin. In the blinding pain, your focus goes out.
And then it comes back. Everything is so hot. Balthazar stands closer, but he isn't looking at you.
It's hard to think straight.
"... come to defend her champion..."
Other feelings press against yours, familiar--not Sylvari. Something else. Full of worry, grief, determination.
A jolt runs through your body, a desperate attempt to control your limbs and mouth. But the only thing that comes out of your mouth is ash. It hits you, then.
This was a trap. It was a trap. You were truly nothing under the eyes of a god because you were just bait. To draw her out.
Your voice fights again, this time against your own control.] No, Au--[a harsh cough claims your words and your head continues to spin in panic. She needs to run she needs to run she needs to run. Leave you to die, it doesn't matter, she has no chance of standing against--
Your focus returns again, and everything is too still. The flames have tempered down, but your body is still broken. Balthazar stands over you, his smug expression absolutely ugly in your eyes before they blur.
Then focus on the glade he lifts, angles right over your chest.
"And now, you die."
It plunges down into your chest.
The last thing you feel isn't the blade, not even the grief.
Its your own sense of self, slipping away from your grasp.
And then you're gone.]