Who: Loki! What: Loki is poisoned. A G A I N. Where: Panem, a weird clearingy pondish area. When: 9/2 afternoon Rating/Warnings: Moderate / Uh if you don't like snakes stay away. Notes: If someone wants to hang out with him 'til he dies, feel free to tag in? Otherwise, narrative.
The long curving blade had nearly been Loki’s end - tripping over it in his rush to escape the blazing fire that seemed sentient, seemed to follow with intent - not simply spreading as an ordinary fire would. He’d stumbled and fallen, a gash across his leg where the concealed weapon had slashed through fabric and skin. It was nothing serious - a stinging reminder of his fragility, and little else, at the moment. He pushed the leaves away quickly, uncovering the weapon more fully - and taking it with him. He could not stop to question why it was there - perhaps a weapon of another who had fallen and been returned to life in a new area, or perhaps simply a random item in the forest for whoever stumbled upon it. It mattered little - it would be more effective against the beasts in this place than his small knives would.
Loki’s run took him straight through the trees - at first in a weaving pattern of dodging trunks and low-hanging limbs, and then gradually straightening, clearing, a simpler run, nothing to trip him or slow him down, almost as though there was a path here. Before long the now-distinct path opened into a clearing, rocky outcroppings edging a small pond. It looked peaceful - and that in and of itself set Loki’s nerves on edge. There should be no peace in a place like this. There could be no peace in a place like this - not when every single leaf on every tree was created with the intent to deceive, trap, and kill.
The heat and crackling of the fire that had been his constant companion for hours now was close. Loki grit his teeth and waded into the pond, alert for any changes to his skin, anything that showed signs of a problem. If this place truly wanted to destroy them, the water could be just as deadly as the fire. The various other scrapes from days spent running and creeping through the woods - they burned a little, at first, but not more than he imagined was normal. The cut on his leg did much the same, stinging sharply at contact and then receding to the same steady dull throb that it had been - at least perhaps some of the blood that had been dried to him would be gone now,, he mused wryly, spinning in the water when he was up to his waist, looking over the fire that had stalked him for so long.
It seemed to wrap around the entire clearing all at once, burning at the edges and not touching this place. Like a barrier had been put in place. Despite the implied reprieve from the flames that had been chasing him, it felt ominous instead of safe - what purpose could there be for a barrier around a pond if this location was not important, somehow - if there was not something worse here?
There was movement in the rocks along the edges of the water where he’d entered, and Loki squinted, trying to pick out what it was, hand tightening around the hilt of the weapon he held. There was nothing here that would be friendly to him. Nothing this place provided was ever meant to preserve any of them. Colors shifted between overgrown plants, and Loki’s breath caught in what was supposed to be a bitter laugh. Snakes. Of course.
Without wasting any time considering the irony of the situation he was now facing, nor what he was going to do once he reached the fire on the other side of this pond, Loki moved for the opposite shore. It was not a very large pond, nor very deep - it was wading rather than swimming, and trying to do so quickly but without too much splashing was not especially simple. The snakes seemed far more adaptive to navigating the water, following him with a singular intent that made it clear these were not merely wildlife.
As he tried to pull himself out of the water, one of the snakes that had gotten close lashed out, fangs bared. Loki slashed at it with the blade in his hand, severing its head. They kept coming, and he hurried to find safer footing.
The next ten or fifteen minutes was an exhausting seemingly-endless onslaught. At first, the snakes were small - perhaps a foot or two in length - but the longer he fought them off, the larger they became. At first he simply assumed the smaller ones had arrived first, and that the larger ones were perhaps slower, or had waited. Soon he realized, however, that it was not that at all - as he killed the snakes, the remaining ones would merge with their fallen bodies, growing in size. They began to be harder to destroy, as well - and he had initially assumed his weapon was becoming dulled, but when it merely bounced away from one particularly large creature, he realized that could not be entirely true. They were… hardening. Armoring themselves with the dead.
His shock distracted him for just a moment - it did not take more than a blink of time for a particularly large snake to slip past him and strike. Loki recoiled and lashed out once more, aiming with the point of the weapon rather than the edge, driving through the thick scales and destroying it, stepping back as he felt a creeping fire in his leg where he had been bitten.
In the end, the final snake was it’s own weakness - so large it lumbered along, and while his weapon could not break through it’s skin, a well-placed throwing-knife to it’s eye took care of it. By that point he was shaking with the effort of remaining standing, sweating and shivering as the venom burned it’s way through his body. There was no more movement from the underbrush. The fire stayed where it was. Loki lowered himself to the ground carefully, dragging himself forward and resting his leg in the water. It hurt too much to properly try to clean it - and he knew just by looking at it, cutting away the fabric of his clothing, that it was too late to try to remove the venom. His veins stood out against his paling skin - almost black, creeping lines of dark against greying flesh.
He did not have long. This time, he did not expect he would come back. He needed to ensure the others were aware of this development. Someone had to make it home.