Ari ♫ ♪ ♬ (gracenotes) wrote in emillion, |
Ari’s voice was only holding out of sheer determination, she thought. Even with all her aches and pains, she felt most keenly the dryness of her throat, the tightness of her chest and back, the soreness caused by hours of pushing for the support through which came volume. A hume was not supposed to sing without rest, without water, without a proper amount of food, for Faram’s sake. Trying not to grit her teeth, which would negate any and all attempts at projection, she sang. She’d done what she could for the fighters, giving them additional protections, quicker speed, even the ability to hit harder, stronger. One by one they lit with a glow to her eyes as she layered the protections on, trying not to think, just to keep them standing. But as her energy began to flag, the giant tortoise-like creature still seemed to be going strong, shaking the ground and delivering crippling blows (she, too, went down once, when none of the others could get to her; that her leg did not break a third time under the weight of the creature’s shell was incredible, but her ribs ached now, which wasn’t helping her sing at all even though the pain was slowly beginning to fade to a tolerable ache). She thought, just as she had thought yesterday, that she refused to die by turtle. It was ridiculous (and terrifying, that the prospect suddenly seemed real; she tried to focus instead on the absurdity to bolster her optimism). Then, as Drake dashed to her side, as she felt his attempts at healing mingling with hers, it was like a light bursting to life in her head, the voice so loud that she nearly jumped, even after months of hearing it: It comes. And here, then, was a tiny thread of hope -- it had only been a day, with time blurring, but he was here, and she didn’t care to heed his warning, didn’t care to save his strength for the next threat. If we don’t do something now, it will come and walk over our unconscious -- she refused the word dead -- bodies. We need help now. Obedient, he came, with a rumble of earth and magma and a roar, and to her ears in that moment, there was no more beautiful sound. The tortoise seemed immune at the fireball he hurled at it, but as he set her down and rushed the enemy, she had to hope that his physical prowess, at least, would give the creature pause long enough for her to breathe, to fumble with shaking hands for the flask of water at her hip, and then to begin, once again, the tedious process of healing new injuries before yet more could be layered over them. The blow was hard, knocking her breath from her, and the sleek black armor had gained a steady slick glint as the sun continued to moved across the sky. If was her blood, Drake’s, or Mag’s, she wasn’t sure at this point, but unfortunately, Aspel’s money was on the fact that it was her own. Another swing of her hammer landed a solid blow as Ifrit zoomed in, moving to engage the beast, but the impact didn’t chip anything off. The only effect seemed to be the ache that spiked through her own arms from the vibration of impact of the weapon. Sweat and blood dipped into her line of sight, and Aspel squinted, attempting to see what the problem was when she realized that now the turtle like beast had begun to emit a soft glow, and none of their blows where causing any damage at all. “Faram-” Aspel bit off the sentence as the turtle moved, pushing Ifrit back, and slamming another attack against anything within range with a powerspin, knocking into her hard as she threw an arm out, trying to push Mag back - out of the way - and causing the smith to feel as though perhaps this would be her final stand after all. The underpadding and clothing stuck to her body with a mix of sweat and blood. |