fistsofjustice: (is it dead?)
Amelia Wil Tesla Saillune ([personal profile] fistsofjustice) wrote2016-06-27 12:10 am

@makehistoria

Ever since she was old enough to feed herself, Amelia only went after humans who deserved it. They are pitiful creatures, her father said, and that is why you must always be righteous. Killing innocent humans was frowned upon like humans frowned upon kicking small, helpless animals; there was no justice in that.

Hunters were a favored target, as were priests who spoke ill of the Fog God. She wouldn’t usually interfere in human-on-human conflict, unless the crime was especially heinous - sometimes one had to put down a rabid sheep.

Such was her recent prey. A Bavan native, notorious for taking any job, no matter how gruesome. Amelia swooped down on him and carried him all the way back to her nest beyond Lager Woods, on the cliffs by the north-western shore. She put him on a rock ledge where no human could reach without special equipment, plucked his eyes out and left him there to starve, though she gave him water once a day. Amelia always made sure they regretted their crimes before taking their lives.

It’s been a week now, and he wasn’t screaming as much. If he doesn’t throw himself on the rocks soon (like some did. Others would beg her for release) she’ll have to do it herself.
makehistoria: (☾ i am rise and fall)

[personal profile] makehistoria 2016-08-21 02:14 am (UTC)(link)
Stocke clings even as Amelia's legs rip into him, leaving long, gaping gashes down his arms and sides - they spout dark smoke in billows. The shade ignores them to start dragging his way up Amelia's body, using three or four arms instead of two where it suits. He's fallen eerily silent even while his tendrils lash wildly.

One of the arms gets high enough to reach Amelia's hand, holding the flashlight; it shifts a jagged mouth on the end and chomps, trying to clamp down on the harpy's wrist. Stocke hasn't bothered shifting extra arms on the end, though - that makes things far too complicated - and he's aiming half-blind. The magic-tossed wind snaps in his face.
makehistoria: (☾ my faces are countless)

[personal profile] makehistoria 2016-08-21 09:15 pm (UTC)(link)
Stocke continues to hold on, grimly. Shades are known for their tenacity in going after grudges; the only difference in Stocke is that he's more impatient, willing to risk more damage rather than following until the perfect opportunity presents itself. Perhaps it comes of being one of the youngest shades around.

He doesn't make a noise even when Amelia scores across his eyes, though the immediate reaction is a flinch. What's not clawed across snaps shut; the shade grits the teeth holding Amelia's arm in retaliation.

Then they slam into the roof and his grip finally loosens. Stocke dissolves into shadows and rolls away, righting himself. The winds blow him further as he tries to reform - he ends up crouching on the roof, claws on hands and feet digging into the tile.
makehistoria: (☾ i am death and birth)

[personal profile] makehistoria 2016-08-26 11:38 pm (UTC)(link)
"Perhaps." A chilly tone, impersonal as a machine. "So I'm making sure you aren't around to divert any more."

He's... genuinely trying to kill the harpy now, isn't he?

The shade's getting nowhere staying solid, with the harpy's magic beating at him. He melts away more deliberately this time, springing forward as soon as the wind's whistling through him instead of against. Aiming for Amelia's soul.
makehistoria: (☾ my faces are countless)

[personal profile] makehistoria 2016-08-29 09:31 pm (UTC)(link)
Amelia's in luck. With the shade incorporeal, the flashlight has a far greater effect on him; he snarls and falls back, dropping to the roof again.

After a moment he ducks around the flashlight's beam, springing off the edge to hover after the harpy from another direction - but he can't go any higher, can only lose ground. As long as Amelia's quick to circle up she'll be out of reach.