[Plot] [Open] Week 111: Apostasy//Evocation

[Abbey Rose]

“Why did they abandon us?”


“There’s only one left.”

“We’re doomed.”


All around Ioannes, people were beginning to mutter and curse. The pockets of resistance that had started to form had collapsed, with most of the possible saviors of the area gone, heading for the stadium. Those left behind were not capable of defending themselves on their own. Not against so many.

“I… I think there’s a cellar over that way.” the velen girl almost whimpered, averting her eyes from the vistra's light while pointing down the road. “My dad used to go there for business and card games. He took me once. It was designed to withstand a Conexus raid.” Her face, like many others, was covered in dirt and soot, and the only life in her eyes was the red glow of a fire.

While she had been speaking, others had gathered around. Families, craftsmen, shopkeepers, and others were banding around the one person who had not abandoned them. Many wailed in pain, be it emotional or physical. Most had bandages or tourniquets or makeshift slings. All were injured. For now, the obvious irregularity of Ioannes' form was ignored beyond a few mutterings, if only because they needed him to survive.

The demons had lulled in their attack on the townsfolk, but clearly knew they were there. A mob of imps corralled them all together, and the three remaining gargoyles circled overhead. It was obvious to Ioannes that people were being led into this group. Though the demons not focused on them continuing their purging of the city with abandon, the ones around them seemed more subdued. Small attacks broke into the party; a few imps tried to drag people off, but the attacks, once so frenzied and unfocused, had now become mere skirmishes comparatively.

All eyes turned to Ioannes. He was their, in a very literal sense, last light in this dark hour.

316/980

 

[Apeiron]

He reloaded, and didn’t stop to think about why a cellar would be built to stand up against a Conexus raid. His attention was needed here, now, helping these people survive this nightmare.

“We need to get to that cellar,” he stated to no one in particular. It sounded redundant now that everyone near-by had heard it, but the point was to make a decision. Something loud, clear, and better than staying where they were. He made sure his voice was loud, so that others near-by could hear him talking. “If we can get to that cellar, we improve our odds of survival.”

He paused and took another surveying look around, trying to find any more skirmishes that might need a hand. Each bullet he fired helped in someway.

You don’t have enough bullets, a doubtful voice said.

To his right, the imps had surged forward. They slowly dragged a man out from the group he was with, and they fought to free him in vain, the imps too quick for their swings. Ioannes lifted his rifle again and took aim.

He had fired so many guns, so many times, it was like breathing.

Breath in. Hold the rifle steady. Breath out. Fire.

His rifle barked again, and one imp disappeared in a puff of black smoke. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to get another imp within swinging distance of another person.

He didn’t need to have enough bullets. One was enough.

“These demons are hoping to make us easy targets,” he went on to say. The thought of the people of Terminus being led like cattle to slaughter angered the wandering gunsmith. He let the fire spill over into his words. “They think that by bringing us all here, they can kill us as they please.”

It was uncharacteristic of Ioannes, but he let himself be swept up by the moment. He spat off to the side, disgusted by the very notion of dying without a fight. “I don’t know about all of you, but if those things want to kill me, they have to get through a mountain of lead first.” As if to punctuate that statement, he chose to reload just then.

“I want to look at all of you and tell you: ‘I will get all of you out of here alive.’” He did. He honestly did. He wanted to so bad, Vis-damn it all, but he couldn’t. And he couldn’t give them empty words to fuel their despair. These people needed more than false hope. Drawing himself up, Ioannes spoke with all the conviction he felt, letting all the people there know the sad reality, “But I’m one man. I’m good with my rifle, but I can’t protect everyone....”

He turned his attention to the velen girl, and as he continued to speak, he slowly moved his eyes across the group -- half looking for more threats, half bringing their attention to him, “I can’t protect everyone,” he repeated, “but if we all band together, we can protect those important to us. Or friends, our families, our loved ones... we can save them.”

[1558]

 

[Abbey Rose]

Ioannes’ words did not go unnoticed. Though people did not cheer or yell or vocalize their agreement, there was a resonance from him to them. A look of grim determination set upon the faces of the group.

“Gather the sick and injured. Put them in the middle.” a large burly blacksmith directed, pushing people around.

“Pass around anything that can be used as a weapon.” another man called out, grabbing larger pieces of wood and handing them out.

The townsfolk coalesced into a semi-working unit, their emotions going far beyond despair and into a sort of fatalistic determination. What happened would happen, but they, at the least, would not be the ones to sit quietly as death took them.

And that death was all around them. Sensing the change in atmosphere, he imps started their assault. They piled onto each other in a desperate horde, swinging their knives and picks and tridents at anyone they could get near. Their weapons were met by the makeshift tools of the villagers. A few gunshots, beyond the ones thrown out by the glowing marksman, even managed to pick off a few.

The imps, however, did not care. They would die, yes, but that just meant a brief flash of pain and a trip home. They did not have the immediate concerns of mortal life, and used it to their advantage. The mob grew tighter as it tried to move forward. Everyone was getting elbow to elbow, packed together as the hellspawn pushed them and they pushed the hellspawn.

Above them, the three remaining gargoyles remained overhead, circling like vultures waiting for their next meal.

271/1251

 

[Apeiron]

Distant explosion echoed down the street. Up in the sky, horrid green flashes of light painted haunting shadows across building tops.

We have to terrify them, a voice whispered as another bullet exploded from Ioannes’s muzzle. It zipped over the heads of the mob and managed to badly wound two imps who had been too close to one another at the wrong moment. If the moment wasn’t so dire, the gunsmith might have felt good about that shot. We have to show them it’s not worth attacking us.

The question was how?

The imps threw themselves at Ioannes’s group with such fearless abandon that he wondered if the demon’s were suicidal by nature, or if inflicting pain was so much more worthwhile to them. Did they somehow feed off the pain?

He didn’t know. Just like he didn’t know how to save all these people.

Ioannes’s gut twisted in a terrified knot, one that flooded him with an uneasy sense of despair and threatened to overwhelm him.

He fought back against the feeling the only way he knew how. He kept his feet moving, moving forward with his group and turning his attention to imps that flew too close. At one point they tried to surge at him, either hoping to terrify him and watch him falter, or hoping that their numbers were enough to out pace his bullets.

Their little charge hadn’t worked.

But Ioannes was starting to run out of clips. If they didn’t get to the cellar, the gunsmith wasn’t sure what he would do.

The imps began to gather again, a roiling cloud of black and grey and red. Ioannes cursed and turned to the crowd, “Get ready!” he shouted.

“There!” the velen woman, just off to Ioannes’s left, pointed down the street to building that had been left mostly untouched by the encroaching fires. “We’ve made it!” A collective sigh, mixed with praises and thanks to the Viskar, passed throughout.

“I said get ready!” the wanderer repeated, but his words were lost as the imps let out a horrendous shriek that pierced like a dagger through their short-lived celebration. The swarm descended, then, each imp eagerly pushing others out of the way, wanting so badly to be the one to hurt or kill. Ioannes reacted by instinct of threat, his gun hugging the pocket where his shoulder and chest met while one hand steadied the rifle, and the other fingered the trigger.

Gun fire ripped through the air, and not just Ioannes’s rifle. At least two others had guns of their own, and they tried as hard as Ioannes to make their shots count -- probably even more.

The imps barrelled into the mob, tearing a small group of people away from the larger. Ioannes saw out of the corner of his eye as two people were hoisted in the air. He turned to fire on the imps, but was too late as the demons sunk their jagged weapons into the laicar’s gut. He turned to the other group who had hoisted the velen girl, and dread stopped him from firing as he caught her eyes, and terrified look that was their a second before they dropped her three stories.

Righteous fury burned through the Paladian. He turned, angry, and fired off a quick succession of bullets into the cloud of imps. One after another, bang bang bang, until the hammer clicked empty.

Ioannes reached for his next clip at his hip, and noted how light his belt was starting to get. He slammed the magazine home into the well, shouting, “Palamedes!”

Whereas before he had willed the vorax to his side as a request, now Ioannes demanded the grizzled old vorax return.

As if to answer the gunsmith’s cry, a beastial roar crashed over the din, moments before Palamedes crashed through a solid wall of stone. The vorax was big, as big as they get, and his fur was coarse and grey in spots with age. By all accounts, Palamedes should probably be dead or crippled by his age, but the vorax was as stubborn as he was big.

The dust settled around the vorax enough for it to see the swarm of imps, and with a defiant roar it charged head-first to the aid of the refugees. Behind the one-eyed vorax, more people spilled out from the shop he had destroyed to get to Ioannes.

“Here!” Ioannes cried, “To me! To me!”

He didn’t bother with any more.

The light of his aura would be enough.

[2310]

 

[Abbey Rose]

The people of Terminus rallied as best they could.

It was a maelstrom of chaos. Almost all order had been abandoned. Groups of demons jumped the townsfolk. Groups of townsfolk shoved their crude weaponry through demons. An explosion, though too far to even see, somehow violently shook the ground they walked on. Those who kept their balance fought on.

The gargoyles did not even take the time to snack upon their prey, simply throwing them up and out to watch them fall back to their deaths. The imps themselves behaved more as a wave or unified arm, grabbing people to drag them back into a waiting horder of claws, hands, and knives.

Still, though, they rallied to the light. To the man who would be their saint and savior.

As he fired, the corners of Ioannes’ eyes caught people forming up behind him, riflemen picking their shots with the awkward ease that only a desperate man could rouse. In front of him, two women, carrying what seemed to be a sideways door, gathered, kneeling down and putting it between the group and the demonic army.

“Almost there!” They shouted as they gathered. “Follow the Lightbringer. We can do this!” Fatalism had given itself away to something closer to fanatical determination. It was past the point of “nothing to lose.” The mob (for that was what they were, now) had seen a light. A small, dim light, but a light nonetheless.

The gargoyles themselves mounted a last assault. All three of them flew up high into the sky, until they were simply small silhouettes in the sky. They paused, and as one, began a dive back down to the townsfolk, three demonic comets coming down to end this frantic firefight.

289/1540

 

[Apeiron]

Bell-damn it! Ioannes cursed.

He saw what was happening, and knew that he couldn’t kill all three gargoyles in time. Horror flashed through him as his mind fed him images of more people being picked up off the ground, terrified that they were going to die, before meeting their untimely end.

No, he thought. No more!

Gritting his teeth, he held off a shot and let the riflemen deliver their volley. Instead, he pushed forward, egging the mob to push forward to their safe-haven. They were almost there. As he moved, shouting orders at people, directing them here or there, helping keep the demons at bay, his eyes searched frantically for something, anything to help him.

The gargoyles had reached their apex, and were just beginning their dive.

“Palamedes!” he called, stopping in his tracks and bringing his rifle to bear. The sights fell on the demon furthest away, and without hesitating Ioannes trusted in his skills as he fired. A rush of energy fled with that shot, his whole being put into that shot in hopes of killing the gargoyle.

But he didn’t wait to see if the demon would die, nor did he stop to see if he even hit.

His feet were already moving, his rifle in lowered. The old vorax lumbered through the mob, unaware and unconcerned for the imps as they took shots at his thick hide, moving in to his position where he could lash out and snatch a gargoyle as it swooped by. That was a flaw for them -- they had to get close enough to the crowd to do something. Which means Palamedes had a shot.

That still left one gargoyle that Ioannes wasn’t about to let hurt anyone.

The gunsmith inhaled deeply, raising his rifle one more time emptied a clip in the direction of the third gargoyle, grabbing it’s attention.

Ioannes dropped his empty magazine, a fresh one already in his hands, and stood firm.

No more. The gargoyles could come and get him.

[2644]

 

[Abbey Rose]

Ioannes’ shot rang true, taking the first gargoyle in the eye. The force spun it through the air, black ichor streaming from a gaping wound to splatter all over the civilians. It’s momentum changed, it missed the main body of group, now smashing into the side of a wooden house.

Timber and splinters flew, showering Palamedes with a fusilade of wooden flechette. The beast ducked his head instinctively. As it did so, one gargoyle slammed into the beast, hardened flesh meeting scarred hide. They tumbled together, Palamedes far too heavy for the beast to pick up as it had the townsfolk. They rolled through the fight, scattering combatants left and right. Small and slow imps were crushed underneath them, dissipating into smears of blood and smoke.

The vorax, with his master’s own luck, came out on top of the gargoyle, it’s savage maw biting and ripping even through the beast’s dense skin. It’s wings tattered, the gargoyle could only try to and dislodge the creature.

This left just the final beast. It knew who was the problem. It could see the man, rimmed with the glow of the Vis that had blessed him. It tilted its wings, maneuvering to crash into Ioannes himself.

If Ioannes felt fear at this moment, he did not show it. He met the gargoyle’s eyes with his own. Demonic eyes locked into mortal ones.

“Spears!” Behind him, a small leftover formed a phalanx. Weapons in hand, they planted themselves just behind their leader. While sloppy, they knew what to do. Each one grasped both hands firmly on their long handled weapon. Wedging the butts against the ground, they angled the sharpened ends towards the beast, hoping to catch it as it fell.

“We have your back, sir!”

292/1732

 

[Apeiron]

Ioannes didn’t question his good fortune at that moment, not while all his focus was on the final gargoyle, though the stranger’s words were comforting in that terrifying moment.

He had gotten the demon’s attention, but now the people at his back were in danger of being crushed by the gargoyle’s own speed and weight. And while the wanderer might have tamed the grizzly vorax, he had none of the beast’s tough hide to protect him. When that demon slammed into Ioannes, regardless of the spears, the two would crush whoever was standing directly behind him at that moment.

He couldn’t let that happen. If the demon was allowed to, it would mean more wounded to be carried. More people who ran the risk of dying to the cloud of imps before they could reach safety.

Something moved him, then, forcing his feet to take a first step, and then another, moving beyond the spear wall behind him, past the illusion of safety their sharpened ends provided. His rifle was raised once more, the shot in front of him couldn’t have been easier.

He didn’t even bother to aim carefully, full sure in his skills that his aim would be true.

His finger squeezed the trigger.

Click.

With startling realization, Ioannes knew that his rifle had jammed.

All thought fled him as images of what might happen flooded his mind, and in that second Ioannes threw aside his rifle, the wood-and-metal contraption hit the ground with a clatter, and he rushed forward to meet the gargoyle with nothing but his bare hands, screaming in defiance and terror.

He would not let those people get hurt. Not by this thing. These monsters were his to fight.

The gap between the demon and the gunsmith closed, and Ioannes braced for what was to be one of the most painful experiences in his life.

He didn’t have the stomach to watch, but couldn’t look away, as he barreled head first into the gargoyle. He dreaded the moment between seconds where adrenaline filled his blood, stretching out time, allowing him to mark every hideous feature on the demon’s snarling face.

But he would not be stopped. Not here.

At the very last moment, just as the gargoyle reached out to snatch the wandering laicar, Ioannes twisted and threw his weight behind his shoulder, slipping between the demon’s grasp, and became a wall that denied the gargoyle even one more inch.

[3050]

Stuff

Things used this turn: Adrenaline to get to the gargoyle quick and in a hurry, Soldier's March to straight up dead-wall the sucker, and Fortes Fortuna to reduce the damage of colliding with what is undoubtedly tougher than himself, and moving at speeds faster than he is.

Soldier's March - 800 Vigor

Adept at wading through the chaotic battlefield, even a war-zone does not faze a skilled Rifleman. Whether it is through sheer determination or force of will, there is little that phases a Rifleman. Even enemy attacks are incapable throwing off his rhythm.

This ability costs 800 Vigor, usable once per round. For that round, any attempt to knock the Rifleman off their feet or stop their forward momentum is reduced in effectiveness by two tiers.

Fortes Fortuna - “Heroes Luck”

Over the course of any struggle Ioannes faces, the hero-in-training accumulates a karmic essence natural to heroes. This essence is what allows normal creatures to surmount impossible odds, or survive lethal moments. As long as he is wearing the bracers, after three rounds, Ioannes is given an essence of luck that may be spent that round or saved for an opportune moment. This essence of luck can be spent to improve the effectiveness of an attack, spell, or ability by two tiers; reduce a potentially fatal injury by two tiers; or improve attempts to escape bindings and debuffs by two tiers. Once used, Ioannes may gain another essence of luck after three more rounds

 

[Abbey Rose]

For those in the proximity of their clash, it looked like the ground should have rumbled. The air should have had a slight pop to it. The body of the gargoyle met the body of the laicar. Demonic strength battled against a monstrous will. Slaughterer fought Protector. Ioannes’ body, however, could not completely match his will. His feet did not move, but he knew in an instant that some part of him was suffering. A small crack, almost invisible against the din of fighting around him, told him that at least one of his bones had broken. It was ignorable, however. He would feel it later, but it would not slow him down today. The gargoyle, dazed, attempted to dislodge the shoulder embedded into him. Its large arms, so great at snatching helpless mortals from the ground, could not get in effectively at the man before it. It bashed at him with elbows. It tried its best to knock their heads together. It’s sheer strength was wasted in such close quarters. The people around them did not hesitate. The former phalanx broke ranks, charging the beast. Sharpened sticks and dull blades chipped at it’s skin. Too preoccupied with Ioannes, there was little the beast could do to protect itself, and though the civilians could not kill the beast, they could cause it pain. Enough pain to cause it to cry out in pain. It struggled. It fought. It would not let itself be killed in such an ignoble manner. Finally, it managed to shove itself away from Ioannes. It raised it’s huge fists, then dropped them back down with a savage roar, attempting to smash the shining hunter. 278/2010

 

[Apeiron]

Ioannes had been so focused on keeping the gargoyle from moving forward that, when the gargoyle suddenly retreated to ready it’s blow, the wanderer fell forward and cried out when he hit the ground. He barely saw the shade of the demon as it raised its fists, and instinctively rolled out of the way.

The heavy fists slammed into the earth next to him, showering him with chunks of debris. As quick as his body would allow him, Ioannes tried to get to his feet, only to feel something heavy slam into him.

With as little control over his body as a rag doll, Ioannes was tossed through the air and into the side of one of Terminus’s remaining stores. He fell to the ground again with a thump and another cry of pain.

Get up, he heard himself say, though his body struggled to respond. Get up! Those people are going to get killed!

Gritting his teeth, the wandering laicar pushed himself up and forced his eyes open. Shock stopped Ioannes from getting up any further, as his stormy blue-gray eyes watched in awe at the events unfolding before him.

The gargoyle, so fixated on Ioannes, had disregarded the spearmen who had surrounded him. Though the band of brave citizens were not an immediate threat to the creature, they had stuck the gargoyle enough that it bled.

Disgusting green-black ooze poured from its more lethal wounds, but the creature did not look any worse off. Still, the surrounding spearmen closed in on the creature with resolve and began tearing it apart.

They harried the demon, ripping its leathery wings so it could not fly, agitating it, forcing it to over-extend itself so that others could make their strikes hit true.

One spearman ducked in, under the clumsy back-hand of the gargoyle and shoved their spear into its knee. The creature howled in pain, it's torn wings flapping in uncontrolled violence, desperately wishing to take off. But it couldn’t, so it swung again. Down at the spearman.

“No!” Ioannes cried, pitifully reaching out with one hand as if he could stop what he was seeing. But he couldn’t. He was helpless to watch as another man died before him. He could do nothing. Not even Palamedes was around to swoop in and tear apart the gargoyle.

But another individual rushed forward with the unmistakable speed of a laicar, their face wrapped in a scarf to hide who they were. The leaped into the air, as if attempting to fly, their spear point held downward in both hands.

They slammed down into the gargoyle before the demon’s blow landed, and the creature once more howled in pain. It fell forward, the killing blow struck, the two brave spearman who had hindered and killed it safe.

For now.

Ioannes collect himself quickly and rose to his feet. One danger had been stopped, but there were still more. He had to keep moving. There were still the imps to deal with, and he had to ensure those people he’d been leading were safe in the basement of that store.

He had to find his gun, first. Without it he wouldn’t be able to save anyone.

Walking towards the spearmen, Ioannes asked, “I need to find a terriculum store. If you find anyone being attacked, do not engage alone. Stick together and save who you can. Get them to the basement, and post some men inside. If any demons want to get in there, I want them crawling over the corpse of their brethren!”

Later, he would wonder why it felt so natural to give those orders. Why a simple gunsmith from Paludis had the right to tell others what to do. But then, he wasn’t a simple gunsmith. He was the Lightbringer. The beacon of hope. He had one job to do, and that was to save as many people as he could.


“Palamedes! To me!” Injured or not, he wasn’t about to stop.

He could stop when he was dead.

[3718]