an alert | open

[hassaran]

FORM: Crystal
SENDER: Yseult
RECIPIENT: All members of Riftwatch
NOTES: Branching off of this scene. Note that despite the IC call for assistance we OOCly don't actually need to add any more people to that thread, the three of them will deal with the demon themselves before anybody else can get there. We just needed an excuse to make an all hands post asap.

Riftwatch, there is a demon in the Gallows masquerading as Benedict Artemaeus. He has been cornered in the fifth floor workroom. Assistance would be appreciated.

[ Yseult almost always sounds brisk on the crystals; today her speech is quicker and more clipped than ever. ]

Until we know more and can confirm there are no other imposters among the company, be on your guard. Report any unusual activity immediately.

Comments

[charmoffensive]

A starting leap in the direction of where the demon appears beside Abby is stalled to a slide, flinching backwards at the avalanche of books, the heavy tumble of the shelving. Shows teeth in a wince, and then pivots automatically for the sound of that demonic screeching—above.

(That all was horrifying. But, he is busy, and will simply have to process it in a minute or two.)

With something that is both faith that Abby will be fine and someone else will see to her (he hopes) (in his periphery, that appears to be resolving) as well as an understanding of where he, Loxley, should be in any encounter, he starts taking long strides for the staircase, letting one of his daggers drop to the floor.

The item that springs into his hand is pointed upwards as soon as he can get an angle, and gives off a sharp metallic twang. A hand crossbow, firing off an innocuous barbed bolt, aimed for where he can see distorted muscle hopefully up near the demon's throat, if not, his shoulder.

And then continuing up the stairs, bounding leaps, two or three at a time.

cw: idk its gross

[muckspout]

The demon, no remants of Edgard left, rises taller and taller on his spindly legs, stretching into his true form and then leans down and with an equally spindly arm knocks down Mobius, dagger clattering. The audacity of this man to yell at him and also attack him!

The mouth opens again full of teeth and gives a preternatural screech and then abruptly stops. Even the demon isn't quite sure what happened, did he run out of voice the way humans do sometimes? The pain then consumes him and he realizes that he has been struck in the throat. He tries to screech again and with every gutteral gasp--once, twice, and again the arrow digs itself deeper. The demon makes vicious eye contact with Loxley realizing who struck him.

The demon's legs appear to fail, it's large enough now that the fall is tremendous and takes down two more bookcases with it. Then the demon is gone--into the floor? Only to appear under Loxley, knocking him head over feet. But the demon is unable to rise tall as before and with one more hitching gasp, it explodes into a slimy sludge that rains down on the others and the books.

[favoriteanalyst]

Great, Mobius thinks, this is it, dying before fulfilling his purpose to a creature he's supposed to know how to fight if only the commanders had taken the rare threats as seriously as the more common ones. He sprawls out along the stone with the air knocked from him and several aches from the hit and the impact both, damned spindly thing packing more of a wallop than one might think, letter opener skidding away. He'll fight it tooth and literal nail if need be. Dazed, he raises a hand, intent on summoning up a blast of Fade energy--

--and turns out he doesn't even need to. Loxley has taken full advantage of the distraction, flanking, firing, hitting his mark. It falls, then disappears, then appears once more to give the qunari something to think about.

And explodes. Lovely.

He wipes some slime from his cheek and sends out a silent prayer to on high. Maker knows that all could've been a lot worse. Hefting himself with a wince to sitting up, his mind starts catching up to everything that happened in very short order as the effort of his own abilities eases back to nothing. "Abby? Is Abby okay?" Given she took the brunt of a whole bookcase.

cw injury description

[armd]

"Fine."

God, she's pissed off more than anything else, inching the shelf up bit by bit. Somebody takes most of the weight from the corner and together they lift, enough that Abby can pull herself out and get slowly to her feet, testing. It doesn't seem like anything is broken; thank fuck the shelf falling didn't push her own mace into her.

There is black slime everywhere, thick and clinging to books, floors and people. To add insult to injury, it stinks.

"Wait, is he fucking dead??" Abby's braid whips the air as she turns her head, searching for a body. If there was a body left behind, she could at least kick it with her boot. At the back of her head, there is blood in her hair, from where she hit her skull falling.

[pathlit]

One day, Jayce might gain enough experience to utilize all readily available resources to mitigate morbidity in combat. Alas, today is not that day; he does not consider deploying his anchor-shield quickly enough to protect against the showering of demon guts.

Grimacing, he glances over his shoulder and grumbles, "I hope so." He looks at Abby again, eyes narrowing at the sight of blood on the backside of her head. "Got a little something back here," he adds, tapping the back of his head to illustrate.

She's standing and sounds cognizant so far that he isn't immediately worried about it, so his attention turns to a raised call of-- "Viktor?"

[grindset]

"Here,"

is Viktor, hand up at shoulder level. Left to manage himself, he'd kicked the Thaumoscope a little farther away and begun to follow it from the immediate skirmish when the demon fell. Had he remained where he was, he'd now be under one of those toppled bookcases, but here he stands, merely uncomfortably close to the wreck of them, whole and upright and wearing some of those mucilaginous remains.

That's two, now, reduced to some kind of... ethereal soup. A catastrophic loss of physical integrity if ever there was one. Rowntree didn't allude to any explosion during their brief exchange—perhaps the other one met its end less violently.

Looking over the slime-splattered destruction, collapsed shelves and ruined books, half in a daze, he says, "We should collect samples."