idolpro | Shrike's Heart (#4)

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!heart games

Shrike's Heart (#4)

The woman before you is beautiful—fair of features, with lovely golden skin and luxurious long black hair, petite. You have the immediate and distinct impression that she's just let go of your hand, and she steps back, and smiles.

It's not quite a happy smile.

"I'm sorry," she says. "There's just nothing I can do, as things are. But the way is there; it just needs to be lit."

You open your mouth—maybe to say something, or to express confusion—but you have to cough, and taste something metallic, spattering black blood onto the ground in front of you. Then you realize—blood seeps from opening wounds in your arms, your chest, your stomach, your face. It rims your eyes and trails from your nose and you feel like you're dissolving—

—and you fall through the ground like it's the surface of a lake, and go down, down, down.

> Wake Up

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[...yes. yes, he did. and will go investigate the barracks a little more, to see what else there is.]

[ Each cot is made with perfect military corners. Five out of the six are laid out with a suit of pressed white ceremonial clothes; a single lotus flower is laid on top. You would know that this seems like a funeral tradition.

The fifth cot is empty. ]

[he sings for them, too, an elegy in shattered crystal notes. because he knew, like Shrike knew, that they were surely dead, if not the circumstances.]

[ You receive +1 WILLPOWER—it's still tending to the memory of the dead, in a way.

The sun seems to be setting faster than normal. The light comes from a candle on the desk, burning down, and one wall sconce. The howl in the distance is growing nearer—and seems to have been joined by more companions. ]

[hmm. that is a bit concerning. going to...take a peek outside, just to...take account of the surroundings.]

[ ...from the outside this feels very familiar. The sky has darkened to pitch black, and rather than be in the open fields of an army camp, the army camp seems to have been translocated to a dense forest that doesn't seem to have felt much of the touch of civilization.

you can start to hear the pads of very large paws, stalking through the brush. the snuffling of a very large muzzle. ]

[oh. oh, well.

closing the door for now...]

[ you close that door!

you are definitely safe now.

(you are not safe now.)

after a few minutes, you can hear the pads of large paws outside—heavy footfalls. the glow of eyes outside the window. maybe, just maybe, if you stay still, stay silent, stay like the dead, they won't notice you're here, or the glow of the candles. ]

[he is very, very good at staying still, and silent, like he is dead. like he is nothing more than a ghost.]

[ you are still, and you are silent, and you are yet living, and somehow—they can smell it.

there's a grunt from the other side of the door, and then an ugly, gravelly howl, and then the tearing of claws through the wood of the door, with a horrible wrenching sound. ]

[oh. good. lifting his parasol, then, to have the sword in it close at hand-]

[ You lift your parasol, and wait. It doesn't take one of them long to shred the door, like impatiently trying to get to the chewy center of a tootsie-roll pop, not that you know what that is.

When its muzzle is able to poke through, it looks like some snarling combination of horse and wolf, all sable fur that blends into the midnight darkness and all teeth like steak knives, and it's hungry and primordial.

What do you do? ]

[hungry primordial monster. well. maybe if he was as timid and helpless as he so often pretends to be, he would have shrunk back from it in fear.

but he is a flower of silk and steel, and gentleness does not mean soft. instead, he reverses the grip on the parasol and brings down the sword hilt in the parasol handle square onto its snout, before it can get anything else through]

[ it yelps, and then snaps back with a fury, its teeth razor-sharp—it nearly takes the sword hilt clean off.

you can hear the growling of the others coming closer as they hear the other one distressed. ]

[...well, not good. drops the parasol, then, drawing a knife and the fan he'd had earlier.

are there any other weapons in here? this is a barracks, so...]

[ there are some swords in the closet—more for training, not honed to a particularly sharp edge, but if it's what you've got, it's what you've got.

the first creature is snarling, thrashing its muzzle around the hole in the door; another rams its head into the door, buckling the wood. ]

[puts the fan and knife away for now, picks up one of the swords. he'll work with those, first.]

[ you pick up a sword. it feels... right, in your hand, somehow. the door, meanwhile, is almost splinters, and—

now it's only splinters, and there's nothing between you and three slavering beasts of the night. ]

[very measured movements. not going to panic or rush or do anything hasty. he isn't afraid.]

[ you are the very picture of determination in the face of trial and adversity. for a moment it seems like the world goes still and silent, and then they're upon you—

one delicate youth, alone, armed only with a plain found sword? well. now that's a story, isn't it?

and suddenly the world around you is awash with light, like the sun has just dawned, and it's within you. when the light fades, it's brighter than it was—almost as if you yourself are glowing—and the sword you hold in your hand shines gold, sharp, and true.

you feel strong, healthy, alive, awake, unbending. ]

[um. what.

what.]

[ hey buddy how's that solar exaltation feel ]

[ w h a t

w h a t

why is this happening?! he knows what he is and it's not this!!!]

[ WELL YOU'RE GOING TO HAVE TO DEAL WITH IT FAST BECAUSE YOU ARE GETTING ATTACKED BY KNIFEHORSEWOLVES!!! ]

[okay he will be perturbed later. time to...deal with the knifewolves then.]

Shrike's Heart (#4)

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