abraxaslogs | Catchall Post - Open and Closed Prompts

Mat is regretting his decision.

Despite being sent off with a bag full of useful potions from Yennefer, and despite all the assurances of Thorne's protective shields, when they reach the sight of the blaze he hesitates. He wants to help, he wants to do something good, but light help him...

Farmland on fire. All he can think about in that first moment is Emunds Field, burning on Beltane Night. That disaster, too, had been preceded by an evening of dancing and flirting and festivities. He'd been next to useless then. He'd saved his sisters, yes, and then spent the rest of the night hiding. No matter that Moiraine had once told him he's stronger of spirit than any man has any right to be, he suspects he is a coward at heart. Always has been.

And here he is again, and the fires here are far worse. There's no monsters, though, and no one screaming or weeping. And no easy way out, either. If he turns tail now, he can't reassure himself that it's the best thing to do. It won't protect anyone. It'll just mean he ran away when he was needed.

Fuck this sense of pride that Thorne has tricked him into. They've dressed him up and coddled him and praised him and now he thinks he might just be made of better stuff. That he just might be more hero than scoundrel. Only a hero wouldn't want to flee right now.

He scrubs a hand over his face, bearded once more, and glances to his companions on this mission.

"How sure are we about that shielding magic?"

Jon shrugs, glances over at Hennessy. She is like to be the most powerful of the three of them, but also, concern for Mat is in his gaze.

"We're not. But I don't think the mages would set us wrong on purpose."

It's hard to say. Mistakes can be made, and while part of him knows that they were stolen away to Thorne for a purpose, because they were thought to be needed, the fact that new people keep coming makes him unsure of the true value the three of them hold. We are still only foot, he thinks. They are only having to do this because of a rash decision made by the queen. They can be replaced. None of it is lost on him.

He doesn't intend that any of them will be hurt on this journey.

"I can't put out a fire, but you can cast ice. That may aid us."

Hennessy's out here because she's got a guilty conscience, not because she has any particular trust in the magic of this place.

What she also has, however, are a few small spell orbs that she'd dreamt in preparation for this. All she has to do is throw one of them at the fire to give them a few minutes of respite, but they're not nearly enough to make a real dent in the fires on their own. They're not ice or water; more like small black holes that absorb some of the fire's energy. Such magic is costly to dream, even for her, but it's more her area of expertise than the spells you learn out of books here.

"If we get into trouble I can get us out. Do we have a plan beyond 'make there be less fire and don't die?'"

"I've got the spell to douse fires. I'm not terrible at Thorne's magic, but it isn't the sort of magic that comes naturally to me."

And yes, he can make ice. It's his greatest skill as of now, he can freeze anything that can be frozen. Something that is likely to be a benefit. But blood and ashes, he doesn't want to have to get as close as they do.

"It's only...fire's not predictable. I've seen what it can do. My village was burned, back home."

He hates admitting that he has a weak point here, hates admitting to his weak points at all. But they're all relying on one another to keep each other safe, he ought mention that he's had bad experiences with fires raging out of control.

Jon frowns at Mat's confession. "They burned Winterfell too, once, but not while I was living in it."

The sympathetic frown doesn't fade after he speaks. He sets a hand on his friend's shoulder, pats it. It is hard for the smallfolk when a village burns. It is hard for anyone to lose their home. He had thought, once, that his brothers were killed before the Ironborn burned Winterfell, but they died differently. At least neither of them had burned alive.

"You two cast the spells. I'll guard you both."

It is plain that he doesn't have a weapon.

Hennessy's got a whole-ass prophecy about how she's supposed to help set her world on fire, but now doesn't seem like a great time to bring it up, considering. She looks Jon over a little skeptically; he seems like the kind of guy who can handle himself in a fight, but you can't exactly punch fire out of existence.

"No offense, mate, but how are you going to guard us from that?"

She gestures expansively to the fire up ahead, which she's pretty sure doesn't contain any mystery attackers.

"Mages provided a shield. Someone's got to maintain it while the others put out the fire." And pray that it holds, as far as Mat's concerned. But it seems a reasonable plan, and he assumes that's what Jon means.

"Jon will maintain it, we'll douse. Alright, no sense wasting any more time, let's to it. Quickest begun is quickest done, after all."

He fishes the scrap of paper with the incantation out of his pocket, making sure he knows the words. He'll trust a Thornean incantation above his own powers, at the moment.

To Hennessy, Jon just shrugs in dismay. How is he going to protect them from that -- how is he going to protect anyone from anything? The way he has learned to throw fire -- that might help at home, though not any more than a flaming arrow would. But he cannot be sure to keep anyone alive there, and he cannot be sure to help here.

One of them would have been better to cast the shield while he physically guards them both: it isn't a matter of starting the spell, it's a matter of his fear that he might fail to maintain it. Maybe that fear will cause him to fail -- or maybe it will keep him from failing.

After one last helpless, skeptical look at the two of them, he casts the spell, it works as it ought to, and they are all shielded.

Hennessy waits to be certain the shield is up before she throws one of her orbs in the space directly ahead of them just to buy them all a little more room until Mat finishes reading the incantation.

Something catches her eye in the space where the flames begin to recede slightly, and she starts to go for her sword. If it can cut through hostile dreams it can cut through whatever that is -- though she hesitates when she sees it's merely a frightened animal of some sort. She can't tell what at this distance, but at the very least it looks like it's likely to get into the spells' path.

"Heads up, there's a thing with hooves coming this way!"

"Oh fuck me, I'm going to end up dousing a scared cow...."

Or whatever it is. Idiot animal. He can't blame it, it's scared and running from the fire. He'd do the same. But blood and bloody ashes! Mat has finished the incantation and it does work as promised. That is indeed very localized and exceptionally low hanging rain beginning to drown some of the flames. And the shield is also working, though it does nothing to protect them from the heat or the sight or the stench of things burning.

Now if someone could steer whatever panicked critter is heading their way off...that would be a damned blessing, as he knows he needs all his concentration to keep up the incantation.

[ooc: slight retcon! Hey remember when I said "cast" the shield in that last tag? I should have said "deploy" -- purely technical difference.]

Jon peers into the smoking distance: hooves and a shriek, and what looks like a crown of fire, or maybe it's the flames behind the beast. "Think it's an elk," he mutters. "Or some sort of stag."

The other two are occupied with the rain spells, which seem to have been successfully cast, but whatever the creature is, its path doesn't divert, and he doesn't have a sword to fight it with. That might be for the best. Big deer, you hunt them with a bow before finishing them with something else. And thank the gods it is not a boar. A boar is a dangerous animal on a good day; in its rage and fear, it is a terror, and one of them might be killed.

So he does what he can do, and where Jon had been a moment before, a black direwolf now stands. It pounces between Mat and Hennessy and the galloping beast, gleaming white teeth bared in a snarl. The ground is hot under its rough paws.

He cannot hold this shape for long... only a few minutes, and this only as a result of practice and training. But might be that he can hold it long enough to protect his friends.

The elk seems unlikely to change its path -- until Jon puts a wolf in that path, and the wolf walks forward within the shield and the smoke and rain around it. Then it swerves around them, galloping into the distance with another terrible noise, and Jon pads around back to the others.

Edited 2022-10-28 22:01 (UTC)

[This has been a mistake.

Mat doesn't know what's wrong with him. One stint on fire duty had been bad enough, why had he thought he could go again? He'd proven he isn't a coward, he'd done it. And then he'd pushed his luck.

He's not even sure how he made his way back to Nott. He barely knows the city but it's where all efforts are being based out of so where would he go? But rather than returning home, he finds an empty alleyway and sinks down against a wall in the mouth of it with a shuddering breath. His eyes sting from smoke and his throat burns and while he'd suffered no harm from the fire he'd stumbled in his panic and tore up his palms and his knees. He barely feels it, is barely aware of the blood on his clothes and the pain from the wounds.

At least he's not likely to draw too much attention. From what little he's seen, Nott is full of shabby people in alley mouths. There's actually something uncomfortably familiar about it. Those thoughts aren't too close in his mind right now, though. It had all come rushing back, Beltane night and the fires and the deaths. The fear...so much for proving he's not a coward.

Fuck. He doesn't want to go back like this. There will be questions and concern and disappointment and he can't deal with those in any quantity right now. It's already a struggle to hold back tears.

Maybe if he just stays here a while. Staying put sounds a very good idea, and any idea is one to cling to at the moment. Mat's not exactly thinking clearly, fear and numbness fighting for control inside his mind.]

[ Most of the streets in Nott are not well-lit or well-maintained; the place is more dark corners and winding alleys than broad thoroughfares like Rhy is used to. Even the town around Thorne, while not as large as London, had been more familiar in style and layout to Rhy, but Nott seems to be the seediest parts of the harbor and the slums and rundown structures in the poorest parts of the city all pushed together into one. It used to be the seat of power in Thorne, he's read, and so he'd expected something... different. More preserved old buildings, perhaps. A sense of history. For the most part, it is a city of people barely scraping by.

More proof of the Thornean royalty's cruel selfishness. It is uncomfortable, frustrating. It makes him angry, and there's nothing he can do but think about how he would never let something like this happen (and how he will never get the chance now, and perhaps it's only wishful thinking in the first place).

He is making his way back from the outskirts of the city, where he'd been helping at one of the makeshift infirmaries, headed for the city square and the promise of strong, cheap alcohol to drown out what he's seen today, like every other day of late. What catches Rhy's attention first is the pair of men ahead, one tall and gangly and the other built like a mastiff, stalking down the street with trouble in their shifty gazes. He slows, slightly, meaning to let them get further ahead before he's noticed. He's tired, doesn't want trouble.

Rhy watches them turn into an alley down the street. That's when the shouting starts. ]

[Mat assumed he'd go unnoticed. Just another poor soul taking a moment for themselves, there's plenty of them. He's even dirty, from the fire and his flight. He may be more than half a year removed from it, but poverty clings to a soul. He fits in, he thinks.

He doesn't think about the gold coin hanging from his neck. It's sort of a talisman to him, and he never takes it off. Not even to sleep or bathe. He doesn't even think of it as money anymore. But it is money. A great deal of money, to most folks around here, and it's simply resting against his chest along with his Wheel medallion - which isn't exactly a novelty piece itself, it's got inlays of silver.

Neither go unnoticed.

Mat doesn't pay much attention at first, not realizing the voices nearby are addressing him. But when one of the two men moves in close, looming over him, he catches on quick.]

Here, boy. Lad like you doesn't need a king's bit. Hand it over to folk that needs it more.

[Oh fuck. He scrambles up but his back against the wall and the pair of intimidating fellows has him hemmed in. Like a sheep in a corner pen. He protests, tells them to fuck off, tries to make himself big. But he's tired and he doesn't have any weapons on him and he tries to summon his magic but all he can manage is a weak little fizzle of cold air from his fingertips.

He then proceeds to offer the worst possible defense he could manage.]

Fuck off, you boil-brained cumbergrounds, I'm a mage from up Castle Thorne, you don't want to start trouble with me!

[ The two men share a glance between them. A beat. And then, almost as if on cue, they begin to laugh in unison, a mix of cackling peppered with swearing. ]

Well, well... ain't this our lucky day? What'cha think, Kal? Worth a little bit'a ransom, or shall we jus' string 'im up and call it a day?

[ The sturdier-looking man, apparently named Kal, grins at Mat with a mouth full of sharp white teeth, and an expression that shows far too many of them. ]

What d'you say, lad? How much will they pay for your head, meanin' in regards to it staying attached to your body?

[ A knife appears in the taller man's hands. He flips it, blade catching the scant light, playing up the threatening bit in a way that might be comical if the knife weren't also very real and very large. ]

Edited 2022-10-12 07:13 (UTC)

[Well shit.

This is quickly turning bad, and Mat...is all on his own. And unarmed. And his gambit hadn't worked and now what the hell is he going to do? This doesn't feel like a 'talk his way out' sort of situation. Already off kilter and pushed to the limit, Mat is on the edge of panic. He can hear his heart roaring in his ears and his chest feels tight.

Overhead, a dark wind begins circling. Erratic and unnatural, though not very large. It lifts the hair off all three men and tugs at their clothes.

Maybe he can work with this after all. He can't command his channeling but maybe he doesn't have to. Never has he been so thankful that he still can't control it when he gets upset. He stays very still, not wanting to give the bastard with the knife any reason to make any sudden moves.]

I'm warning you.

What the fuck you doin'?!

[ The man with the knife lunges at Mat, apparently frightened by the shadows -- but in the wrong direction, forward instead of back, meaning to put a stop to whatever he's casting by force.

The other thrashes and tries to shoo away whatever's tugging at his clothes, screaming profanities at Mat and goading his companion with suggestions of which part to cut off to send in for a ransom while also teaching him a lesson about trying to scare them with shitty magic.

This is the scene Rhy walks into, suddenly appearing in the mouth of the alley, slightly out of breath, trying to parse what's going on.

Shit. Mat. ]

Catchall Post - Open and Closed Prompts

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