Of Bones Stained Red
31th of October 2006 A.D.
What will dad think of me for agreeing? What will Harry? What do I tell Father Forthil at confession that I am willing to bargain with one monster the better to end another? The questions run though your mind like river water and like that water they leave much stuck fast, the doubts and fears that you cannot even properly name, much less excise. But you are not your doubts and you are not your fears, you are the girl running over black obsidian sands and if you know one thing it's that to slow down is to take a tumble. Begin as you mean to go on... Looking first at Lydia then back at the expectant vampire regent you say with what you hope is disarming nonchalance: "Seems reasonable. Sure."
Underneath the table, you grip the table cloth on the table by one end and raise a finger. "Excuse me for a minute." Light poisonous bright pours from you at last, the dam of caution and will at last overcome into sudden violence as you explode upwards, the leading edge of the tablecloth scything ahead of you at supersonic speeds as your green-shrouded form lunges at the watcher. The improvised weapon curls around the veiled figure's neck and arms and tightens, a moment before you crash into its back with bone-dislocating force. Then you grapple, twisting in the air to bring the body down to the ground with your knee in their sternum. A smile slides onto your face as you consider your captive.
For all the world he seems a man in his mid-twenties, dark of hair and eyes, though with black circles under his eyes speak of many lost nights. They widen in surprise those eyes and upon your lips there hangs a quip...
It dies on your lips, as the hand of something vast and wretchedly ancient reaches from afar like the reek of rotten meat and the taste of bile rendered manifest upon the fabric of the world. A scream unlike anything you had ever thought could emerge from a human throat erupts from the man on the table, the skin muscle and cartilage of his face ripping as the bloody bone beneath starts to tear itself free. As you lunge at your purse for the potions you had brewed for quite another person, hoping they would be enough for him to heal through the damage,
knowing it would not be Lara speaks with dreadful passion:
"Live, live for me!"
Whether by succubus' magic or just the ultimate desire of all mortal men to live, no matter what pacts they might have sworn or what their masters may have asked of them the broken spy does. His clothes are soaked through with blood, you realize distantly. All of his bones had been trying to rip their way out of his body.
"What on earth is that?" Lydia asks, with the composure of her heritage, not her age.
You open your mouth, the answer upon the tip of your tongue, then close it. You had felt that power before, if only in the distant and impersonal gaze of the Crown, the
Naagloshii. It had been tying off loose ends, but if a curse from afar would not work...
"We need to get him under wards now!"
Lara however isn't looking at you, she is looking at Lydia. "Or we kill him on our terms and she collects his soul."
Lydia looks downright disgusted at the thought, but she does not refuse outright, no doubt considering just as you are the time it would take to get under any decent wards. Does the bloody skinwalker care about exposure? On the one hand it had sent an invisible spy, on the other hand that same spy had been cursed to gruesomely tear themselves apart if captured.
What do you do?
[] Follow Lara's suggestion, once the spy is dead he is under Lydia's domain more than that of his master in life
[] Try to get the spy under wards
-[] To Harry, you trust him to have your back
-[] Lara's place, nothing quite like dealing with a cannibalistic cosmic abomination to bring new allies together
[] Write in
OOC: This guy was unreasonably lucky... so now you have to deal with him.