- Location
- United States
[X] Give vague warnings, Lara has a point... and she would probably trust you more if you take her advice and show caution
Green Flame Rising (Exalted vs Dresden Files)
- Thread starter DragonParadox
- Start date
- Crossover Fantasy
Harry dresden was still a challange for it. It can't be that strong.
Listens to Wind wasn't screwing with his territory though, he was opposing him in the field.
I think even with good wards there's only so much that can be done if someone is attacking them while you're not around. Anyone willing to take the shot is going to be alarming to the Naagoloshi. It can't afford risks of this type because it's game over if someone manages to mess with its territory.
And really, big explosions are an issue for everyone. Battering defenses down with repeated attacks or making a series of probes to figure out where the weaknesses are and then hitting them where they hurt are classics that have gotten Harry and multiple other wizards.
The Naagloshi is more powerful, but this sort of thing is still a concern for it.
I'd say we should assume they're good, but being old doesn't mean they're perfect.
Edit: autocorrect
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Not really.
Dresden met it on prepared ground, on an island that he'd claimed as a sanctum, using Soulfire, and threw literally everything he had at it, and almost burned himself out doing it.
He put together every advantage he could, and he literally ran himself out of gas.
The naagloshii didn't touch him; he almost killed himself, and yet did no permanent damage of any sort.
And at the end he literally couldn't move, and was lying there hoping his death curse would be of more impact while the skin walker held a conversation.
Had his head flopped about with a lethally rubbery fluidity after the impact? Had I just broken my brother's neck?
I let out a cry of agony and chagrin. At the same time, the skinwalker whirled to face me, crouched, and let out a furious roar that shook the air all around, sending drops of water that had beaded upon the leaves of the trees raining to the earth in a fresh shower. That roar held all the fury of a mortally offended, maniacal ego and promised a death that could only be described with the assistance of an encyclopedia of torments, a thesaurus, and a copy of Gray's Anatomy.
The naagloshii in my crystalline memory of the recent past and the one standing in front of me in the here-and-now both rushed at me, huge and unstoppable, determined to hit me from either side and rip me to shreds.
And suddenly I did not care that this creature was a foe on par with any number of nightmares I would never dare to trade blows with. I did not care that I was probably about to die.
I saw Kirby's still form in my head. I saw the small, broken figure of Andi in her hospital room. I saw my brother's wounds, remembered the agony the thing had caused me when I had seen it through my Sight. This creature had no place here. And if I was to die, I was not going to go out in a gibbering heap of terror. If I was to die, it wouldn't happen because I was half crippled with fear and Sight trauma.
If I was to die, it was going to be a bloody and spectacular mess.
"Bring it!" I screamed back at the naagloshii, my terror and rage making my voice sharp and high and rough. I cupped my right hand as if preparing to throw a baseball, drew up my will, and filled my palm with scarlet fire. I thrust out my left hand and ran my will through the shield bracelet hanging there, preparing a defense, and as I did I felt the power of the land beneath my feet, felt it spreading out around me, drawing in supportive energy. "Bring it! Bring it, you dickless freak!"
The naagloshii's form shifted from something almost human to a shape that was more like that of a gorilla, its arms lengthening, its legs shortening. It rushed forward, bounding over the distance between us with terrifying speed, grace, and power, roaring as it came. It was also vanishing from sight, becoming one with the darkness as its veil closed around it, utterly invisible to the human eye.
But Demonreach knew where Shagnasty was. And so did I.
In some distant corner of my mind, where my common sense apparently had some kind of vacation home, my brain noted with dismay that I had broken into a sprint of my own. I don't remember making the decision, but I was charging out to meet the skinwalker, screaming out a challenge in reply. I ran, embracing a rage that was very nearly madness, filling the fire in my hand with more and more power that surged higher every time one of my feet hit the ground, until it was blazing as bright as an acetylene torch.
The naagloshi leapt at me, horrible eyes burning and visible from within the veil, its clawed arms reaching out.
I dropped into a baseball player's slide on my right hip, and brought my shield up at an angle oblique to the skinwalker's motion. The creature hit the shield like a load of bricks and bounced up to continue in the same direction it had been leaping. The instant the naagloshii had rebounded, I dropped the shield, screaming, "Andi!" and hurled a miniature sun up at the skinwalker's belly.
Fire erupted in an explosion that lifted the skinwalker another dozen feet into the air, tumbling it tail over teakettle—an expression that makes no goddamned sense whatsoever yet seemed oddly appropriate to the moment. My nose filled with the hideous scent of burning hair and scorched meat, and the naagloshii howled in savage ecstasy or agony as it came tumbling down, bounced hard a couple of times, and then rolled to its feet.
It came streaking toward me, its body shifting again behind its concealing veil, becoming something else, something more feline, maybe. It didn't matter to me. I reached out to the wind and rain and rumbling thunder around us and gathered a levy of lightning into my cupped hand. Then, instead of waiting for its charge, I turned my left hand over and triggered every charged energy ring I had left, unleashing their deadly force in a single salvo.
The naagloshii howled something in a tongue I didn't know, and the lances of force glanced off of his veil, leaving concentric rings of spreading color where they struck. A bare second later, I lifted my cupped had and screamed, "Thomas! Fulminas!"
Thunder loud enough to knock several stones loose from the tower shook the hilltop, and the blue-white flash of light was physically painful to the eyes. A thorny network of lightning leapt to the naagloshii, whose defenses had not yet recovered from deflecting the blasts of the force rings. The deadly-delicate tracery of lightning hammered into the exact center of its chest, stopping its charge in its tracks. Smaller strikes, spreading out from the main bolt like the branches of a tree, snapped into the rocky ground in half a dozen places, digging red-hot, skull-sized divots into the granite and flint.
Exhaustion hit me like a hammer, and stars swam in my vision. I had never thrown punches that hard before, and even with the assistance of Demonreach, the expenditure of energy needed to do so was literally staggering. I knew that if I pushed too hard, I'd collapse—but the skinwalker was still standing.
It stumbled to one side, its veil faltering for a second, its eyes wide with surprise. I could just see it going through the naagloshii's head: how in the world was I hitting him so accurately when it knew that its veil rendered it all but perfectly invisible?
For one quick fraction of a second, I saw fear in its eyes, and triumphant fury roared through my weary body.
The skinwalker recovered itself, changing again. With what looked like trivial effort, it reached down and ripped a section of rock shelf the size of a sidewalk paving stone from the rock. It flung the stone at me, three or four hundred pounds coming at me like a major-league fastball.
I dove to the side, slowed by exhaustion, but fast enough to get out of the way, and as I went, I gathered my will. This time the silver-white streamers of soulfire danced and glittered around my right hand. I lay on the ground, too tired to get back up, and ground my teeth in determination as it charged me for what would, one way or another, be the last time.
I didn't have the breath to scream, but I could snarl. "And this," I spat, "is for Kirby, you son of a bitch." I unleashed my will and screamed, "Laqueus!"
A cord of pure force, glittering and flashing with soulfire, leapt out at the skinwalker. It attempted to deflect it, but it clearly hadn't been expecting me to turbocharge the spell. The naagloshii's defenses barely slowed it, and the cord whipped three times around its throat and tightened savagely.
The skinwalker's charge faltered and it staggered to one side, its veil falling to shreds by degrees. It started shifting form wildly, struggling to get loose of the supernatural garrote—and failing. The edges of my vision were blurry and darkening, but I kept my will on him, drawing the noose tighter and tighter.
It kicked and struggled wildly—and then changed tactics. It rolled up to a desperate crouch, extended a single talon, and swept it around in a circle, carving a furrow into the rock. It touched the circle with its will, and I felt it when the simple magical construct sprang up and cut off the noose spell from its source of power: me. The silver cord shimmered and vanished.
I lay there on the ground, barely able to lift my head. I looked toward the cottage and the safety it represented, standing only forty feet away. It might as well have been forty miles.
The naagloshii ran its talons along the fur at its throat and made a satisfied, growling noise. Then its eyes moved to me. Its mouth spread into a carnivorous smile. Then it stepped out of the circle and began to stalk nearer.
One bloody and spectacular mess, coming up.
The naagloshii walked over to me and stood there, smiling, as its inhuman features shifted and contorted, from something bestial back toward something almost human. It probably made it easier to talk.
"That was hardly pathetic at all," it murmured. "Who gifted you with the life fire, little mortal?"
"Doubt you know him," I responded. It was an effort to speak, but I was used to meeting the rigorous demands of life as a reflexive smart-ass. "He'd have taken you out."
The skinwalker's smile widened. "I find it astonishing that you could call forth the very fires of creation—and yet have no faith with which to employ them."
"Hell's bells," I muttered. "I get sick of sadistic twits like you."
It tilted its head. It dragged its claws idly across the stone, sharpening them. "Oh?"
"You like seeing someone dangling on a hook," I said. "It gets you off. And once I'm dead, the fun's over. So you feel like you have to drag things out with a conversation."
"Are you so eager to leave life, mortal?" the naagloshii purred.
"If the alternative is hanging around here with you, I sure as hell am," I replied. "Get it over with or buzz off."
Its claws moved, pure, serpentine speed, and my face suddenly caught on fire. It hurt too much to scream. I doubled up, clutching my hands at the right side of my face, and felt my teeth grinding together.
"As you wish," the naagloshii said. It leaned closer. "But let me leave you with this thought, little spirit caller. You think you've won a victory by taking the phage from my hands. But he was hanging meat for me for more than a day, and I left nothing behind. You don't have words for the things I did to him." I could hear its smile widening. "It is starving. Mad with hunger. And I smell a young female caller inside the hogan," it purred. "I was considering throwing the phage inside with her before you so kindly saved me the bother. Meditate upon that on your way to eternity."
Even through the pain and the fear, my stomach twisted into frozen knots.
Oh, God.
Molly.
I couldn't see out of my right eye, and I couldn't feel anything but pain. I turned my head far to the right so that my left eye could focus on the naagloshii crouching over me, its long fingers, tipped with bloodied black claws, twitching in what was an almost sexual anticipation.
I didn't know if anyone had ever thrown a death curse backed by soulfire. I didn't know if using my own soul as fuel for a final conflagration would mean that it never went to wherever it is souls go once they're finished here. I just knew that no matter what happened, it wasn't going to hurt for much longer, and that I wanted to wipe that grin off the skinwalker's face before I went.
I wasn't sure how defiant you could look with a one-eyed stare, but I did my best, even as I prepared the blast that would burn the life from my body as I unleashed it.
I let out a cry of agony and chagrin. At the same time, the skinwalker whirled to face me, crouched, and let out a furious roar that shook the air all around, sending drops of water that had beaded upon the leaves of the trees raining to the earth in a fresh shower. That roar held all the fury of a mortally offended, maniacal ego and promised a death that could only be described with the assistance of an encyclopedia of torments, a thesaurus, and a copy of Gray's Anatomy.
The naagloshii in my crystalline memory of the recent past and the one standing in front of me in the here-and-now both rushed at me, huge and unstoppable, determined to hit me from either side and rip me to shreds.
And suddenly I did not care that this creature was a foe on par with any number of nightmares I would never dare to trade blows with. I did not care that I was probably about to die.
I saw Kirby's still form in my head. I saw the small, broken figure of Andi in her hospital room. I saw my brother's wounds, remembered the agony the thing had caused me when I had seen it through my Sight. This creature had no place here. And if I was to die, I was not going to go out in a gibbering heap of terror. If I was to die, it wouldn't happen because I was half crippled with fear and Sight trauma.
If I was to die, it was going to be a bloody and spectacular mess.
"Bring it!" I screamed back at the naagloshii, my terror and rage making my voice sharp and high and rough. I cupped my right hand as if preparing to throw a baseball, drew up my will, and filled my palm with scarlet fire. I thrust out my left hand and ran my will through the shield bracelet hanging there, preparing a defense, and as I did I felt the power of the land beneath my feet, felt it spreading out around me, drawing in supportive energy. "Bring it! Bring it, you dickless freak!"
The naagloshii's form shifted from something almost human to a shape that was more like that of a gorilla, its arms lengthening, its legs shortening. It rushed forward, bounding over the distance between us with terrifying speed, grace, and power, roaring as it came. It was also vanishing from sight, becoming one with the darkness as its veil closed around it, utterly invisible to the human eye.
But Demonreach knew where Shagnasty was. And so did I.
In some distant corner of my mind, where my common sense apparently had some kind of vacation home, my brain noted with dismay that I had broken into a sprint of my own. I don't remember making the decision, but I was charging out to meet the skinwalker, screaming out a challenge in reply. I ran, embracing a rage that was very nearly madness, filling the fire in my hand with more and more power that surged higher every time one of my feet hit the ground, until it was blazing as bright as an acetylene torch.
The naagloshi leapt at me, horrible eyes burning and visible from within the veil, its clawed arms reaching out.
I dropped into a baseball player's slide on my right hip, and brought my shield up at an angle oblique to the skinwalker's motion. The creature hit the shield like a load of bricks and bounced up to continue in the same direction it had been leaping. The instant the naagloshii had rebounded, I dropped the shield, screaming, "Andi!" and hurled a miniature sun up at the skinwalker's belly.
Fire erupted in an explosion that lifted the skinwalker another dozen feet into the air, tumbling it tail over teakettle—an expression that makes no goddamned sense whatsoever yet seemed oddly appropriate to the moment. My nose filled with the hideous scent of burning hair and scorched meat, and the naagloshii howled in savage ecstasy or agony as it came tumbling down, bounced hard a couple of times, and then rolled to its feet.
It came streaking toward me, its body shifting again behind its concealing veil, becoming something else, something more feline, maybe. It didn't matter to me. I reached out to the wind and rain and rumbling thunder around us and gathered a levy of lightning into my cupped hand. Then, instead of waiting for its charge, I turned my left hand over and triggered every charged energy ring I had left, unleashing their deadly force in a single salvo.
The naagloshii howled something in a tongue I didn't know, and the lances of force glanced off of his veil, leaving concentric rings of spreading color where they struck. A bare second later, I lifted my cupped had and screamed, "Thomas! Fulminas!"
Thunder loud enough to knock several stones loose from the tower shook the hilltop, and the blue-white flash of light was physically painful to the eyes. A thorny network of lightning leapt to the naagloshii, whose defenses had not yet recovered from deflecting the blasts of the force rings. The deadly-delicate tracery of lightning hammered into the exact center of its chest, stopping its charge in its tracks. Smaller strikes, spreading out from the main bolt like the branches of a tree, snapped into the rocky ground in half a dozen places, digging red-hot, skull-sized divots into the granite and flint.
Exhaustion hit me like a hammer, and stars swam in my vision. I had never thrown punches that hard before, and even with the assistance of Demonreach, the expenditure of energy needed to do so was literally staggering. I knew that if I pushed too hard, I'd collapse—but the skinwalker was still standing.
It stumbled to one side, its veil faltering for a second, its eyes wide with surprise. I could just see it going through the naagloshii's head: how in the world was I hitting him so accurately when it knew that its veil rendered it all but perfectly invisible?
For one quick fraction of a second, I saw fear in its eyes, and triumphant fury roared through my weary body.
The skinwalker recovered itself, changing again. With what looked like trivial effort, it reached down and ripped a section of rock shelf the size of a sidewalk paving stone from the rock. It flung the stone at me, three or four hundred pounds coming at me like a major-league fastball.
I dove to the side, slowed by exhaustion, but fast enough to get out of the way, and as I went, I gathered my will. This time the silver-white streamers of soulfire danced and glittered around my right hand. I lay on the ground, too tired to get back up, and ground my teeth in determination as it charged me for what would, one way or another, be the last time.
I didn't have the breath to scream, but I could snarl. "And this," I spat, "is for Kirby, you son of a bitch." I unleashed my will and screamed, "Laqueus!"
A cord of pure force, glittering and flashing with soulfire, leapt out at the skinwalker. It attempted to deflect it, but it clearly hadn't been expecting me to turbocharge the spell. The naagloshii's defenses barely slowed it, and the cord whipped three times around its throat and tightened savagely.
The skinwalker's charge faltered and it staggered to one side, its veil falling to shreds by degrees. It started shifting form wildly, struggling to get loose of the supernatural garrote—and failing. The edges of my vision were blurry and darkening, but I kept my will on him, drawing the noose tighter and tighter.
It kicked and struggled wildly—and then changed tactics. It rolled up to a desperate crouch, extended a single talon, and swept it around in a circle, carving a furrow into the rock. It touched the circle with its will, and I felt it when the simple magical construct sprang up and cut off the noose spell from its source of power: me. The silver cord shimmered and vanished.
I lay there on the ground, barely able to lift my head. I looked toward the cottage and the safety it represented, standing only forty feet away. It might as well have been forty miles.
The naagloshii ran its talons along the fur at its throat and made a satisfied, growling noise. Then its eyes moved to me. Its mouth spread into a carnivorous smile. Then it stepped out of the circle and began to stalk nearer.
One bloody and spectacular mess, coming up.
Chapter Forty-five
The naagloshii walked over to me and stood there, smiling, as its inhuman features shifted and contorted, from something bestial back toward something almost human. It probably made it easier to talk.
"That was hardly pathetic at all," it murmured. "Who gifted you with the life fire, little mortal?"
"Doubt you know him," I responded. It was an effort to speak, but I was used to meeting the rigorous demands of life as a reflexive smart-ass. "He'd have taken you out."
The skinwalker's smile widened. "I find it astonishing that you could call forth the very fires of creation—and yet have no faith with which to employ them."
"Hell's bells," I muttered. "I get sick of sadistic twits like you."
It tilted its head. It dragged its claws idly across the stone, sharpening them. "Oh?"
"You like seeing someone dangling on a hook," I said. "It gets you off. And once I'm dead, the fun's over. So you feel like you have to drag things out with a conversation."
"Are you so eager to leave life, mortal?" the naagloshii purred.
"If the alternative is hanging around here with you, I sure as hell am," I replied. "Get it over with or buzz off."
Its claws moved, pure, serpentine speed, and my face suddenly caught on fire. It hurt too much to scream. I doubled up, clutching my hands at the right side of my face, and felt my teeth grinding together.
"As you wish," the naagloshii said. It leaned closer. "But let me leave you with this thought, little spirit caller. You think you've won a victory by taking the phage from my hands. But he was hanging meat for me for more than a day, and I left nothing behind. You don't have words for the things I did to him." I could hear its smile widening. "It is starving. Mad with hunger. And I smell a young female caller inside the hogan," it purred. "I was considering throwing the phage inside with her before you so kindly saved me the bother. Meditate upon that on your way to eternity."
Even through the pain and the fear, my stomach twisted into frozen knots.
Oh, God.
Molly.
I couldn't see out of my right eye, and I couldn't feel anything but pain. I turned my head far to the right so that my left eye could focus on the naagloshii crouching over me, its long fingers, tipped with bloodied black claws, twitching in what was an almost sexual anticipation.
I didn't know if anyone had ever thrown a death curse backed by soulfire. I didn't know if using my own soul as fuel for a final conflagration would mean that it never went to wherever it is souls go once they're finished here. I just knew that no matter what happened, it wasn't going to hurt for much longer, and that I wanted to wipe that grin off the skinwalker's face before I went.
I wasn't sure how defiant you could look with a one-eyed stare, but I did my best, even as I prepared the blast that would burn the life from my body as I unleashed it.
When one hunted Donald Morgan, second in command of the Wardens in the 1950s/1960s?
He fled, and when he couldn't shake it had to lure it into the path of a US nuclear test to kill it.
These things are up there in tier one of the canon Dresden Files threats we've seen on-screen.
Believe the hype.
We dont know how they are linked to their territory.
Its something of a reach to assume there has to be a physical component to whatever or however they gain power; it might just be that they are always in the vicinity of Native American land, and that it requires an actual exorcism.
And even if there is a physical component?
Blowing up empty wilderness isn't going to do very much to a leyline or dragon nest tap, for example.
Bombing the island of Demonreach wouldn't exactly do anything to Alfred.
Its a fallen not!angel godthing. I would not make the assumption that it relies on anything as mundane as plain wards to guard a spot of interest. Captive demons, corrupted elementals, bound souls and ghosts....there's a lot of potential options if you've been kicking around for millennia and have no scruples about who you hurt.
Certainly, the existence of our captive is clear precedent for that sort of thing.
Perfect no. Certainly not.
Just old, ruthless and knowledgeable. And evil.
They are really not, listen to wind beat it with some shapeshifting and the warden guy wasn't that formidable. And being hard for mortal wizards is not a big deal for hellfire sword princes, we can literally make it into shasimi and ita only recourse would be to run.
- Location
- Taken by the hand to a land that they understand
[X] Give vague warnings, Lara has a point... and she would probably trust you more if you take her advice and show caution
The prison keeps guys like BS in minimum security, the Naagoloshi isn't even close to the same in terms of nature or power.
Alfred also has physically structures that do matter, including the rune arrays Harry found in various places. Most of the important stuff is better protected though.
As to the type of connection, it is hard to speculate but there is a physical element to anything anchored permanently in the mortal world. Blowing up a rune circle, a carefully grown arrangement of trees, or whatever would affect how things fit together.
Even if the Naagoloshi got some exception to that own nearly universal rule of the supernatural in DF is that connections run both ways. A deep bond like what we're talking about isn't something anyone could afford allowing an enemy access to.
Not, to be clear, that I think we could breach its defenses and do something nasty to it in an afternoon. The point is the fog of war; it applies to them as much as us, and our enemies have a lot less information to go on about what Molly is or can do.
Manipulating that kind of thing is an effective way to waste someone's resources and push them into bad decisions.
Yeah, but it's worth noting that they can make mistakes and aren't on their A game at all hours of the day.
That shapeshifting stuff was actually pretty hard core, and beating a divine messenger at its own game is actually very impressive. Listens-to-Wind and the other old wizards are almost all very scary, and they don't advertise how.
cite
cite incidentally, water magic is the one that can play the best counter magic games out of the "traditional" elements because it can tap into the ability water has to naturally disrupt magical power.
The guy is nearly three hundred years old and had reason to know exactly what he was doing in that fight. That's basically as dangerous as a wizard gets without winding up a serious ritual.
Donald Morgan killed two Dukes of the Red Court in open combat and was within twenty paces of the Red King when the dude broke and ran. He is precisely as scary a combat wizard as his reputation makes him out to be.
Listens to Wind drove Shagnasty away. He injured it, but nothing permanent, and he broke his arm in the process.
And he's a Senior Council wizard, a savant of hidden knowledge and Power more than three hundred years old. Dude is a strategic weapon. His peers are responsible for stuff like stopping an army of Outsiders with one impromptu ward, setting off Krakatoa, and the Tunguska airburst.
To give you some perspective, Shagnasty in canon is described as having the equivalent metaphorical mass of being his own leyline, and that just his being present distorts the magical flows in the environment.
I would expect Shagnasty from the books to lolpwn that entire force of akuma including Eiko and the Will of Kakuri, at once, on their own chosen turf. Solo.
His demonstrated suite of capabilities would be enough to pull it off.
I am not exaggerating when I say he's up there.
The only major non-Ethniu book villain I'd maybe consider in the same general weight class in a scrap from demonstrated feats would be Ursiel!Genoskwa from Skin Game.
-Exactly. Naagloshii actually qualify to be inmates alongside all the other baddies, even if only minimum security.
Whampires require special dispensation to be imprisoned in Demonreach; they are considered too weak to be worth the trouble.
-We dont know what the rune arrays do.
For all we know, they are just there to protect the Warden's residence, as opposed to having any implications for Alfred or Demonreach.
-Im reasonably sure that isn't true.
A physical element sometimes exists, but I dont recall anything about it being a prerequisite. A lot of things appear to be anchored in mortal society by memory and their remembrance by mortals.
For all we know its some sort of curse that limits them to tribal lands, and that never applies to a physical spot because tribal lands have changed locations many times since white settlers showed up.
-The problem like I said, is that we need to project enough force to be a credible threat in order to draw him off.
Thats a non-trivial investment, and not something we can currently whistle up at short notice just as a feint.
Throwing pebbles at a fortress wall is not going to do more than irritate the owner. Or motivate them to come at you hard before you can spread the knowledge around.
Oh sure.
[X] Give vague warnings, Lara has a point... and she would probably trust you more if you take her advice and show caution
I just think that if our foe knows we identified him already, he might immediately attack, while vague warnings leave a chance that we do not know who is responsible yet, leaving him acting more carefully.
I just think that if our foe knows we identified him already, he might immediately attack, while vague warnings leave a chance that we do not know who is responsible yet, leaving him acting more carefully.
Eh, I disagree. I would put my money on Gard against a naagloshii.
Do you have a citation that it's a matter of power, rather than free will / mortality / authority / jurisdiction? Whampires sit right on the border of being considered mortals in the sense that they are least constrained by thresholds and such, and that probably affects whether they can be imprisoned.
[X] Give vague warnings, Lara has a point... and she would probably trust you more if you take her advice and show caution
[X] Give full warnings. Let it know you know and are not afraid
Smart being, and naagloshi is smart, would know that we know anyway. The benefit of our allies actually knowing what's going on is higher than the benefit of our enemy knowing what we know. It's unlikely to expect an element of surprise anyway.
Smart being, and naagloshi is smart, would know that we know anyway. The benefit of our allies actually knowing what's going on is higher than the benefit of our enemy knowing what we know. It's unlikely to expect an element of surprise anyway.
Vote closed. Vague warning it is.
It's mentioned constantly in the context of the cleansing light of dawn. Spirits and magic of all types are eroded if left out in the open without an anchor.
Depends. In a white room fight I don't think she'd be able to do it. We've seen her lose to people like low tier Denarians before, and she couldn't exactly keep up with the Naagoloshi's power output casting wise.
That said, if she was planning for the fight she'd do better. Her position puts in a pretty good place to arrange something tricky to change the odds.
1)Gard canonically lost a 1v1 fight against a grendelkin, a lesser descendant of Grendel, who in the Dresdenfiles was a Bigfoot.
That was in the short story Heorot, where she and Dresden team up to rescue a virgin woman from a grendelkin who was planning to rape, breed and eat her, in that order.
A naagloshii would murder her. No contest.
2)Citation:
Alfred's eyes blazed several shades brighter with eagerness. "IT HAS BEEN OVERLONG SINCE THE LAST FOULNESS WAS CONSIGNED TO MY EVERLASTING CARE," it said. "THIS PARASITE-RIDDLED VERMIN SCARCELY QUALIFIES FOR MINIMUM SECURITY."
"I want him held," I said. "I want his Hunger held helpless as well, until such time as I return to release him."
"WHICH PENITENCE PROTOCOL SHALL HE SUFFER, WARDEN?"
There were several that could be inflicted on the inmates of the prison. Some were bound in darkness. Some
in torment. Some in simple confinement. The various Wardens of Demonreach had tinkered with the cells for a very, very long time. Some of the protocols had been developed before civilization had been more than a few collections of huts and fires in the darkness, and they were not kind.
There was one prisoner held below in a kind of unique stasis, something that could most closely be considered sleep, though he could also awaken and perform limited communications for short periods of time. It was, as best as I could understand, the only protocol with sanitysaving sleep built into it.
The prison had never been meant for something as frail and nearly mortal as my brother.
Thomas made a soft, ugly little sound, as if only his utter exhaustion was holding him back from screaming in pain.
"Contemplation," I responded quietly. "He is to be shielded from any communication with other prisoners not enduring the same protocol. Give me the crystal."
Peace Talks Chapter 34, Page 322
"I want him held," I said. "I want his Hunger held helpless as well, until such time as I return to release him."
"WHICH PENITENCE PROTOCOL SHALL HE SUFFER, WARDEN?"
There were several that could be inflicted on the inmates of the prison. Some were bound in darkness. Some
in torment. Some in simple confinement. The various Wardens of Demonreach had tinkered with the cells for a very, very long time. Some of the protocols had been developed before civilization had been more than a few collections of huts and fires in the darkness, and they were not kind.
There was one prisoner held below in a kind of unique stasis, something that could most closely be considered sleep, though he could also awaken and perform limited communications for short periods of time. It was, as best as I could understand, the only protocol with sanitysaving sleep built into it.
The prison had never been meant for something as frail and nearly mortal as my brother.
Thomas made a soft, ugly little sound, as if only his utter exhaustion was holding him back from screaming in pain.
"Contemplation," I responded quietly. "He is to be shielded from any communication with other prisoners not enduring the same protocol. Give me the crystal."
Peace Talks Chapter 34, Page 322
Yeah, thats canon for a lot of magic stuff left out in the open without an anchor.
But that doesnt appear to hold for sapient/near-sapient organisms of sufficient power. The naagloshii has no trouble strutting around in daytime, for example.
And while ghosts are often bound to geographic locations, there isn't a physical anchor, just a location or thematic association.
She certainly does better with prep time.
But I dont see her surviving a solo encounter with a naagloshii. She lost against a grendelkin, and while she performed adequately against Denarians, she'd have lost there too if they weren't using her as bait.
Winning Vote
Arc 7 Post 14: Swift Wheels, False Wings
Swift Wheels, False Wings
31th of October 2006 A.D.
Slowly, not altogether willingly, you nod. They will know to stay put you tell yourself, they will know to stay safe, you tell yourself as you fire off message after message into the ether, the sound of horns and screeching tires in your ears. If Thomas is not breaking any laws as he races north along the shore of Lake Michigan it's only because being pulled over by the coops would take too long. A school crossing is traversed with dizzying speed, a van marked with the words Heavenly Gardens in pleasant forest green font is cut off in a blare of horns. Hopefully they weren't carrying anything important and hopefully the old lady in the banged up Buick to give Harry's Beetle a run for its money. As you glance sideways at Thomas coiled like a spring over the wheel, the pupils of his eyes dilating even as his breath remains a steady hiss you are reminded abruptly that however much you might trust him he is as much of a predator as his sister, a fox running from a bear perhaps though you had not named the foe yes.
"Dad, something came up, we have to take shelter, Chateaux Raith you know where that is. Yes I'm fine, working to stay that way, get in touch with Harry his might be his kind of trouble..."
Lake Michigan is a streak of silver on your left, still bright in the light of early morning as the steel and concrete castles of downtown fall in messy steps first to more modest apartments inter-spaced with modest corner shops and garages, then to suburbs of the kind you are familiar with, streets to rollerblade by... thankfully without any rollerbladers.
That guy will never get on a bike in his life...
That girl might swear off icecream
You are pretty sure the overtaking a fire truck like that is illegal even if he didn't also do it to two other cars at the same time
"So the logic now is that even if the cops spot us they would not be able to catch up?" you quip to Lara.
She has a throaty inviting laugh that almost seems to end in a purr. "Not before we get to where we are going and lets just say no traffic officers in the city would dare knock on our door to leave their grubby little notes."
That is a very petty reason to infiltrate the CPD, you think, before recalling the Red Court in Cleveland, not getting bothered by them is probably a secondary consideration. Up ahead the lush trees of the Chicago Botanical Garden sway in the wind with that manicured perfection that speaks to as much human effort as went into the building of the Trader Joe's next to it. But aesthetic comparisons take a backseat beside the fact that you are getting into the kind of neighborhoods you can expect a place called Chateaux Raith to be found. A few more minutes and...
Without warning a large white bird, a stork, its wings edged black and black its head also bursts from the cover of the trees races overhead just as Thomas was cutting off a moving van.
"Watch out!" Lydia shouts. "That's... that's wrong!!"
"As though to confirm her words a gust of ragged power, not even a shadow of what you had felt before, but still all too potent goes out from the stork and the van's... everything goes out, but alas the tyranny of Newton will not be denied.
Cursing violently under his breath Thomas manages to swerve out of the way, though not without hitting a road sign.
The sudden jarring had not stopped Lydia from lowering the window, hands starting to glow with silver fire.
Though the fleeting touch of magic is not enough to guess the full nature of the thing above one thing is clear: it is no spirit, no fey that will conveniently melt into the stuff of the Nevernever if it is slain.
"It's trying to slow us down, but it can't affect this car," Lara says. "Leave it, we our source! We are almost to the estate's ward-line "
What do you do?
[] Try to down the bird-thing, witnesses or no
-[] Hunter's Bolt from Lydia
-[] Write in
[] Drive on, it's trying to slow you down and you are almost at the estate boundary
[] Write in
OOC: Lydia's sheet has also been updates with her charms from the last level up, I'd forgotten to do that before.
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It might not, but that doesn't mean its anchor is itself under the same protection.
Ghosts also require those elements for protection. No threshold or anchor == death or power loss on sunrise.
I don't think she'd be able to kill it, but surviving and maneuvering around it to succeed in some other task seems viable with the right preparation, and she is a fairly flexible sorcerer with a wealth of contacts.
Goldfish
Friendly Spider-Fish Abomination
- Location
- Formerly of the Far Realm
Shit, is the Skinwalker actually in Chicago right now? I was assuming it was back home and operating remotely via meat puppet.
This sentence for a bit wonky, DP.