Peony Min (blackmagicks) wrote in emillion, |
Every bone in Peony’s body seemed to ache. She had been healed -- one of the first (she had not protested; the city needed her able to function) -- but she has exhausted and sore and far from being in her best form. It didn’t matter. She had eaten the oatmeal some enterprising soul had made before finding a corner to spread her cloak and sleep. She was so tired that even in these conditions, she dropped out of consciousness. She woke to a clamor outside and to a hand on her shoulder. “I am sorry to wake you, councilor,” said the white mage; the circles under her eyes were pronounced and dark and Peony did not need to ask why, as she already knew. “I will go,” she said, pulling on her boots and rising slowly, painfully, to lift the weapon which felt much heavier than it looked. “Take this,” the white mage said, handing over a small bottle of liquid glowing faintly blue. Peony was already striding toward the door as she uncorked it, downing its contents in one gulp. She felt the fresh energy the Ether bestowed upon her, let it buoy her as she floated out the door into the pale gray of early morning. She had faced the stone constructs earlier in the day, but there were two of them, releasing their spells and kicking at the makeshift barricade in the street, clearly intent on the people hiding behind it. The barricade had its defenders, too, but they were clearly too tired to be up to the challenge alone, and one was being dragged away, unconscious or dead, she did not know. She lifted her arms, chanting, sending a wall of wind to push the creatures back. Cressida woke with a start, her muscles screaming, mind unclear. She awoke to agony and the taste of blood in her mouth, wincing up at the ceiling through foggy eyes as the hushed whispers filtered past the bed where she lay like a sack of bricks. With a groan, she pushed up into a seated position to find a mage at the foot of her bed, surprised to see her awake, and presented her with a potion, alerting her of the proceedings. It had started again. She was tapping in a quick message to the network before dropping the device onto the bed, moving with bow and arrow toward the source of the fear driving others away from the doors and windows of the safehouse. Her bow felt heavy in her hands, her eyes still blurred, but she couldn’t sit and waste away. There had to be something she could do. The light burned her eyes as she stepped outside, looking for something, anything familiar, and a wave of dark hair pulled her in. Councilor Min. Maybe she’d be relatively useless with her arrow -- if she could draw back her arm or notch an arrow, it’d be a wonder, with broken fingers and ribs that had to be digging into her lungs -- but she could support the councilor as best she could. Once within reach, she cast Protect on the other woman, just in time for the first coughing fit to surface, bringing up blood with it. |