10-07-2013, 08:25 AM
Whenever Nyx felt as though she knew what to expect, or how to deal with any given situation, the Omniverse sought to throw a spanner in the works. It was something she did not appreciate, by any stretch of the imagination – and to be greeted by a pair of banshees was just the icing on the cake. She had read about them, sure, but her years spent locked away in the Circle Tower meant that she had never truly encountered one before. The lack of tangible experience to draw upon left her somewhat stumped when Whirda barked the command to just “deal with it”.
Things hadn’t entirely gone to plan. The banshee had shrugged off her blood bolts as though they were nothing more than tickles. Nyx came to the horrifying realization that maybe her magic wouldn’t save her in this harsh environment – maybe she would have to change tact? Blood magic was all she knew, or at least all that she thought she knew. That being said, she hadn’t really been feeling herself over the last few days. There was no doubt in her mind that the mystery voice was to blame. That didn’t really assist her in figuring out how to deal with it, however.
One minute, her feet had been firmly planted on the ground – the next, she was being lifted into the air by the talons of the horrendous bat-thing. The banshee issued further reminders of just how useless her magic was against it, easily ignoring her pleas and not even bother to twitch as she barraged it with blood bolts, instead intent on carrying it away to god knows where. Just as Nyx was beginning to resign herself to the knowledge that her efforts were in vain, she heard the sickening squelch of crossbow bolts puncturing leathery flesh. Though her ears were protected by scraps torn from the bottom of her robes, she heard the banshee’s wail.
The next thing she knew, she was falling.
Falling was a very peaceful experience, Nyx learned. It felt much like flying, or at least how she imagined flying would feel, if she was capable of it. She felt as though all of her troubles were still firmly clenched between the banshee’s talons, and that she had left them behind. She felt free.
This elation was short-lived, as Van Helsing’s voice tore her from her trance. “Catch her!” he had yelled. His voice lacked the fear one would anticipate when barking such a command, especially given the situation. The banshee had flown higher than any man or beast could jump, and as it drew its last strained breath, it had released Nyx. Given the height from which she was falling, if she was allowed to hit the ground at her current velocity, she would surely die.
The realization that there was a very real possibility that she would die within the next few seconds sobered Nyx, and forced her to take in the gravity of the situation. She was falling, faster and faster, with no hope of surviving the impact when she eventually landed. She had no idea what would happen to her if she actually died – would she cease to exist entirely, or would she come back? What would she come back as? Herself, or someone else? Would she even be human anymore?
The blood mage didn’t have much time to mull over every potential outcome, as she felt familiar arms close around her. The comfort she sought from what she knew was Whirda’s touch was quickly drowned out by the pain that shook through her body as she and Whirda went barrelling through the window of one of the dilapidated buildings. The glass shattered noisily, some shards embedding themselves in her robes and skin, others being sent skidding ahead of them in a kind of lethal red carpet.
Nyx tumbled out of Whirda’s arms, her body limp from shock. She rolled helplessly across the debris inside the building, only seeming to gain momentum, before a gust of wind steadied and slowed her. She ground to a halt mere inches from the wall. She pawed at the floor helplessly, nails scrabbling at the wood beneath her, struggling to find something solid to help her regain her footing. As Nyx heard Whirda scream, she summoned all the energy she could muster, and dragged herself to her feet.
Using the wall to support herself, the blood mage stumbled unsteadily towards the battle mage and the stranger hunched over her. Whirda’s screams sent icy chills down her spine, then an unfamiliar voice spoke, urging her not to move. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously, forcing her tired muscles to carry her to her companion with haste. She stopped just behind Van Helsing, one hand still pressed against the wall for support, the other cradling her ribs.
The shock of the events she had just encountered began to subside, leaving only questions.
The most pressing question was, of course, what happened? It had all happened so quickly that Nyx hadn’t had time to process anything. Now that the banshees were dead – or at least, she hoped they were dead, - she was left with the fallout of the fight and a lot of gaping holes in her memory. Whirda didn’t seem interested in answering her question, instead focusing her attention on the stranger, who she believed had introduced himself as some kind of doctor.
It didn’t really twig that he could have been the one they were fighting to reach until the words had left his lips. Hearing him utter his name – Professor Abraham Van Helsing, - momentarily caused the blood mage to forget her physical state. Relief washed over her, and hope swelled within. She staggered towards him, collapsing a few feet away from Whirda, landing on her hands and knees.
“Careful now,” Van Helsing chided, flashing Nyx a warning glance. Meanwhile, his hands expertly poked and prodded Whirda to assess the extent of the damage she had sustained. He cautiously lifted her limbs in unison, testing their range of mobility. “You’re lucky you haven’t broken anything,” he told her, ignoring her grunts of protest. “Your back absorbed the brunt of the damage. You’re actually very lucky that your spine wasn’t fractured by the impact – if it had been, you would be in serious trouble.”
“She’s going to be okay?” Nyx piped up, crawling closer.
“As long as you’re careful, I believe you’ll make a full recovery,” Van Helsing confirmed, speaking directly to Whirda. He swooped around to her side, wrapping one of his strong arms around her shoulder. Nyx realized what he was doing and darted over, ducking under Whirda’s arm and helping Van Helsing lift her to her feet. The battle mage seemed a little shaky on her feet, but quickly adjusted. She looked a little uncomfortable at being helped, but nodded in thanks to both of her companions. “The healing process won’t be easy - or comfortable, - but you’ll make it. Just try and take it easy.”
With the knowledge that Whirda would survive, Nyx allowed herself to relax a little. The relief was short-lived.
“Dobson!” Nyx cried. Whirda’s steely grey gaze met hers, having reached the same conclusion. In unison, they turned to look at Van Helsing.
Though the doctor was unaware of exactly how he needed to assist, Nyx’s tone and the way the women stared at him indicated something was seriously wrong. “Where is he?” he demanded, his voice all business-like.
As if on cue, Thanatos poked his head through the shattered window. Dobson used him as a supporting mechanism, his fists firmly tangled in the Nightsaber’s fur to keep him upright. “Over here!” Dobson called.
“Watch her,” Van Helsing told Nyx, hastily climbing over the broken window and beginning to tend to the young guard’s wounds.
“We have to follow him,” Whirda insisted, starting to guide them towards the broken window.
Nyx gently, but firmly, tugged at her waist. “We’re not going that way,” she stated matter-of-factly, guiding Whirda towards the doorframe at the east of the building. Undoubtedly, there was once a door attached to the frame, but it had long since been torn from its hinges.
It wasn’t long before Nyx and Whirda had rejoined Van Helsing. He had removed the bandages around Dobson’s shoulder, and was pouring a strange liquid directly on to the bite marks left by the infected wolf. The young guard released guttural groans of pain, still relying on Thanatos for support. The Nightsaber didn’t seem best pleased by the way Dobson was treating him, but endured it nonetheless.
“Can you help him?” Whirda called, breaking free of Nyx’s arms. Her knowledge of the affliction she had encountered back in Faerûn had her fearing for the young man’s life.
“I’ve administered the antidote,” Van Helsing replied calmly. “He should be fine. I’d advise against freeing him from his restraints until the bite mark is fully healed, however.” Nyx and Whirda nodded in agreement. Van Helsing moved towards Nyx, studying her carefully. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about you, either. Let me examine your wounds.”
The blood mage shook her head adamantly. ”No, I’ll be fine,” she stated firmly. ”Our first priority should be taking care of the Blight, a subject on which I am lead to believe you are very knowledgeable?”
The Professor regarded her carefully, his eyes narrowing at her reluctance to be helped. He decided to trust that she would come to him when she was ready. “I’ve been dealing with the undead for as long as I can remember,” he began wistfully. “But that’s a story for another time. We have more pressing matters to attend to. The Shade is nearby, and it knows we’re coming. It’s understandably quite infuriated by our interference. I hope you’re ready for a fight, because Shades don't take too kindly to intruders.”
Things hadn’t entirely gone to plan. The banshee had shrugged off her blood bolts as though they were nothing more than tickles. Nyx came to the horrifying realization that maybe her magic wouldn’t save her in this harsh environment – maybe she would have to change tact? Blood magic was all she knew, or at least all that she thought she knew. That being said, she hadn’t really been feeling herself over the last few days. There was no doubt in her mind that the mystery voice was to blame. That didn’t really assist her in figuring out how to deal with it, however.
One minute, her feet had been firmly planted on the ground – the next, she was being lifted into the air by the talons of the horrendous bat-thing. The banshee issued further reminders of just how useless her magic was against it, easily ignoring her pleas and not even bother to twitch as she barraged it with blood bolts, instead intent on carrying it away to god knows where. Just as Nyx was beginning to resign herself to the knowledge that her efforts were in vain, she heard the sickening squelch of crossbow bolts puncturing leathery flesh. Though her ears were protected by scraps torn from the bottom of her robes, she heard the banshee’s wail.
The next thing she knew, she was falling.
Falling was a very peaceful experience, Nyx learned. It felt much like flying, or at least how she imagined flying would feel, if she was capable of it. She felt as though all of her troubles were still firmly clenched between the banshee’s talons, and that she had left them behind. She felt free.
This elation was short-lived, as Van Helsing’s voice tore her from her trance. “Catch her!” he had yelled. His voice lacked the fear one would anticipate when barking such a command, especially given the situation. The banshee had flown higher than any man or beast could jump, and as it drew its last strained breath, it had released Nyx. Given the height from which she was falling, if she was allowed to hit the ground at her current velocity, she would surely die.
The realization that there was a very real possibility that she would die within the next few seconds sobered Nyx, and forced her to take in the gravity of the situation. She was falling, faster and faster, with no hope of surviving the impact when she eventually landed. She had no idea what would happen to her if she actually died – would she cease to exist entirely, or would she come back? What would she come back as? Herself, or someone else? Would she even be human anymore?
The blood mage didn’t have much time to mull over every potential outcome, as she felt familiar arms close around her. The comfort she sought from what she knew was Whirda’s touch was quickly drowned out by the pain that shook through her body as she and Whirda went barrelling through the window of one of the dilapidated buildings. The glass shattered noisily, some shards embedding themselves in her robes and skin, others being sent skidding ahead of them in a kind of lethal red carpet.
Nyx tumbled out of Whirda’s arms, her body limp from shock. She rolled helplessly across the debris inside the building, only seeming to gain momentum, before a gust of wind steadied and slowed her. She ground to a halt mere inches from the wall. She pawed at the floor helplessly, nails scrabbling at the wood beneath her, struggling to find something solid to help her regain her footing. As Nyx heard Whirda scream, she summoned all the energy she could muster, and dragged herself to her feet.
Using the wall to support herself, the blood mage stumbled unsteadily towards the battle mage and the stranger hunched over her. Whirda’s screams sent icy chills down her spine, then an unfamiliar voice spoke, urging her not to move. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously, forcing her tired muscles to carry her to her companion with haste. She stopped just behind Van Helsing, one hand still pressed against the wall for support, the other cradling her ribs.
The shock of the events she had just encountered began to subside, leaving only questions.
The most pressing question was, of course, what happened? It had all happened so quickly that Nyx hadn’t had time to process anything. Now that the banshees were dead – or at least, she hoped they were dead, - she was left with the fallout of the fight and a lot of gaping holes in her memory. Whirda didn’t seem interested in answering her question, instead focusing her attention on the stranger, who she believed had introduced himself as some kind of doctor.
It didn’t really twig that he could have been the one they were fighting to reach until the words had left his lips. Hearing him utter his name – Professor Abraham Van Helsing, - momentarily caused the blood mage to forget her physical state. Relief washed over her, and hope swelled within. She staggered towards him, collapsing a few feet away from Whirda, landing on her hands and knees.
“Careful now,” Van Helsing chided, flashing Nyx a warning glance. Meanwhile, his hands expertly poked and prodded Whirda to assess the extent of the damage she had sustained. He cautiously lifted her limbs in unison, testing their range of mobility. “You’re lucky you haven’t broken anything,” he told her, ignoring her grunts of protest. “Your back absorbed the brunt of the damage. You’re actually very lucky that your spine wasn’t fractured by the impact – if it had been, you would be in serious trouble.”
“She’s going to be okay?” Nyx piped up, crawling closer.
“As long as you’re careful, I believe you’ll make a full recovery,” Van Helsing confirmed, speaking directly to Whirda. He swooped around to her side, wrapping one of his strong arms around her shoulder. Nyx realized what he was doing and darted over, ducking under Whirda’s arm and helping Van Helsing lift her to her feet. The battle mage seemed a little shaky on her feet, but quickly adjusted. She looked a little uncomfortable at being helped, but nodded in thanks to both of her companions. “The healing process won’t be easy - or comfortable, - but you’ll make it. Just try and take it easy.”
With the knowledge that Whirda would survive, Nyx allowed herself to relax a little. The relief was short-lived.
“Dobson!” Nyx cried. Whirda’s steely grey gaze met hers, having reached the same conclusion. In unison, they turned to look at Van Helsing.
Though the doctor was unaware of exactly how he needed to assist, Nyx’s tone and the way the women stared at him indicated something was seriously wrong. “Where is he?” he demanded, his voice all business-like.
As if on cue, Thanatos poked his head through the shattered window. Dobson used him as a supporting mechanism, his fists firmly tangled in the Nightsaber’s fur to keep him upright. “Over here!” Dobson called.
“Watch her,” Van Helsing told Nyx, hastily climbing over the broken window and beginning to tend to the young guard’s wounds.
“We have to follow him,” Whirda insisted, starting to guide them towards the broken window.
Nyx gently, but firmly, tugged at her waist. “We’re not going that way,” she stated matter-of-factly, guiding Whirda towards the doorframe at the east of the building. Undoubtedly, there was once a door attached to the frame, but it had long since been torn from its hinges.
It wasn’t long before Nyx and Whirda had rejoined Van Helsing. He had removed the bandages around Dobson’s shoulder, and was pouring a strange liquid directly on to the bite marks left by the infected wolf. The young guard released guttural groans of pain, still relying on Thanatos for support. The Nightsaber didn’t seem best pleased by the way Dobson was treating him, but endured it nonetheless.
“Can you help him?” Whirda called, breaking free of Nyx’s arms. Her knowledge of the affliction she had encountered back in Faerûn had her fearing for the young man’s life.
“I’ve administered the antidote,” Van Helsing replied calmly. “He should be fine. I’d advise against freeing him from his restraints until the bite mark is fully healed, however.” Nyx and Whirda nodded in agreement. Van Helsing moved towards Nyx, studying her carefully. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about you, either. Let me examine your wounds.”
The blood mage shook her head adamantly. ”No, I’ll be fine,” she stated firmly. ”Our first priority should be taking care of the Blight, a subject on which I am lead to believe you are very knowledgeable?”
The Professor regarded her carefully, his eyes narrowing at her reluctance to be helped. He decided to trust that she would come to him when she was ready. “I’ve been dealing with the undead for as long as I can remember,” he began wistfully. “But that’s a story for another time. We have more pressing matters to attend to. The Shade is nearby, and it knows we’re coming. It’s understandably quite infuriated by our interference. I hope you’re ready for a fight, because Shades don't take too kindly to intruders.”