Noctis
Kaithe Dame
TokyoPewPew
ErosSense
Andreyich
Sp00ki
Silent Showers
Estylwen
wintersoldier@Estylwen@ERode@Psyker Landshark@AThousandCurses
Withdrawing a vial of bubbling liquid silver from her coat, Sylv would look around the room at those who seemed to remain as assistants, and then to the scowling Raja turning the corner and walking out into the halls, before turning back towards Davil's bedside. "Once this vial is consumed, time will be of the essence as mentioned prior. It can be done with my efforts alone, but any contributors will reduce the strain. Breaking the stagnant rupa is the goal, and once that is accomplished, the rest is simple."
The doctor would summon forth her Adapa and prepare a timer with one hand while uncorking the bubbling vial with the other. "Those willing to assist may do so by holding tight to the patient. He will require a vast offering of nama and rupa the very moment the stagnancy is broken, and you must all be ready to give a minor donation. There will be no long term side effects of this procedure affecting you all, other than a minor day-long bout of migraines and depression at worst. With that being said, we must begin."
After ensuring that those who wished to aid the process were making contact with Davil, the stoic overseer tapped her Adapa to start the timer, and simultaneously downed the syrupy silver. "As fair warning, the visions may be disorienting."
Sylv's right arm would seem to rapidly calcify, before overgrowing with dark, hardened scales. Pointed claws would overtake her hands, but with the same neutral expression she had carried this whole time, it was business as usual for her. To the observant, there may have been the slightest wince of pain for but a moment as the transformation of her arm completed, but it was only for a flicker before her stoicism returned. With no further delay, she would raise her clawed arm and plunge it towards Davil's stomach without hesitation - at which point, the vision of those assisting in the procedure would short out briefly as a pulse of essence range through them.
Apart from Sylv, all who participated would find themselves in front of a sprawling lake. The moon shone above in such a way that gave the water a crystalline shine, and trees surrounded them on all sides. Two figures of small size sat on the grass by the lakeside, dipping their legs in and out of the water. One of them was wreathed in a patchy cloak, gaze downcast at the water, attempting to shut themselves out from the world, but the other was clearly Davil - younger, scrawnier, but clearly the same boy. His gaze was focused up at the stars, resolute despite the bandages, bruises and scratches dotted across his body. Neither of them seemed to acknowledge the presence of newcomers, nor could those newcomers seem to interact with this environment in a conventional sense.
"If your house no longer has knights, I'll become the only one you'll need."
With a weak smile forming across his face, he stood and raised a stray twig to the sky. His arm shook such that even gripping it proved to be laborious.
"I won't be the best, and it won't be for long. But I'll throw my life away for that purpose!"
The obscured figure would slowly begin to raise their head towards Davil, and everything would fade away. The rest, from the perspective of the visitors looking in, was nowhere near as clear. It would bring about a similar feeling to the shifting from Castalia to Ascendia, with the same mile-a-minute sensation. It would feel as if it were a battle of wills, maintaining individuality and perception of the self amidst a blizzard of emotions and experiences. Glimpses of select moments of Davil's life would impact one after another - the boy sparring in the same courtyard time and again against various warriors, never once claiming victory. His will to go on wavered, weakening and strengthening as weeks passed into months and years, and yet he came no closer to what he could consider the power he needed. Even as a vision of crimson passed, no sense of fulfillment was felt. A recurring sparring partner lay dead in the courtyard at midnight, blood on Davil's curved blade, shuddering, and more importantly, the wails of concern from far off - from the one he loved unconditionally, so far away as to be meaningless. The man had ill intentions, perhaps? Or not? The boy could no longer remember, that night or any after, even as guilt gnawed at him. He was not good at dueling, in that moment of scarlet blur, as a knight was. There could never be a world where Davil Wund could fight.
He was good at killing.
As guards surrounded him with spears from all angles across the courtyard of the estate, his life over as they barked for him to drop the blade, his last thoughts were not selfless.
"I couldn't win, even once."
Thunk...
Thump.
CRACK.
All at once, the echoing thrums of a cracked shell exploded in the ears of the visitors. Reality had returned, and all were back in room 106 of the clinic to the sounds of the doctor's alarm droning on. Sylv's clawed arm was plunged into Davil's torso, and small tendrils prodded about him. Blood left him like he were a human faucet, but she persisted without remorse. "Stagnation has broken. Donate what nama and rupa you can, step back, and if you require it, compose yourselves and sit down."
After others had cleared the bedside, Sylv would all at once tear the scaled arm out of Davil and, in that same instant, use the tendrils shrouding it to grasp at the flasks she had placed, uncorking and dumping the contents of all three of them into the boy's open torso. Still maintaining a blank expression as it happened, Sylv's scaled arm would seem to flake and break off entirely, thudding to the floor of the clinic and smashing into a fine dust on the ground. A petrified stub remained where her right arm formerly was, though she regarded it with no particular interest. She would look across her assistants to gauge their physical and mental states, and state, "Mr. Wund will require constant bed rest for at least a week, but the worst has been tended to. Do any of you require medical attention?"
As she inquired, Davil's torso could be seen visibly sealing itself up. Ciara, for her part, would feel the jolt of an Umbralist’s presence near her. For the faintest moment in her mind, even in her dreamscape, she would hear the meek whine of the shadow imp exclaiming, “She’s going to kill me, she is… death of us all, that Raja! Death of us bloody all!”
WINGRAM CLINIC, ROOM 106
Withdrawing a vial of bubbling liquid silver from her coat, Sylv would look around the room at those who seemed to remain as assistants, and then to the scowling Raja turning the corner and walking out into the halls, before turning back towards Davil's bedside. "Once this vial is consumed, time will be of the essence as mentioned prior. It can be done with my efforts alone, but any contributors will reduce the strain. Breaking the stagnant rupa is the goal, and once that is accomplished, the rest is simple."
The doctor would summon forth her Adapa and prepare a timer with one hand while uncorking the bubbling vial with the other. "Those willing to assist may do so by holding tight to the patient. He will require a vast offering of nama and rupa the very moment the stagnancy is broken, and you must all be ready to give a minor donation. There will be no long term side effects of this procedure affecting you all, other than a minor day-long bout of migraines and depression at worst. With that being said, we must begin."
After ensuring that those who wished to aid the process were making contact with Davil, the stoic overseer tapped her Adapa to start the timer, and simultaneously downed the syrupy silver. "As fair warning, the visions may be disorienting."
Sylv's right arm would seem to rapidly calcify, before overgrowing with dark, hardened scales. Pointed claws would overtake her hands, but with the same neutral expression she had carried this whole time, it was business as usual for her. To the observant, there may have been the slightest wince of pain for but a moment as the transformation of her arm completed, but it was only for a flicker before her stoicism returned. With no further delay, she would raise her clawed arm and plunge it towards Davil's stomach without hesitation - at which point, the vision of those assisting in the procedure would short out briefly as a pulse of essence range through them.
Apart from Sylv, all who participated would find themselves in front of a sprawling lake. The moon shone above in such a way that gave the water a crystalline shine, and trees surrounded them on all sides. Two figures of small size sat on the grass by the lakeside, dipping their legs in and out of the water. One of them was wreathed in a patchy cloak, gaze downcast at the water, attempting to shut themselves out from the world, but the other was clearly Davil - younger, scrawnier, but clearly the same boy. His gaze was focused up at the stars, resolute despite the bandages, bruises and scratches dotted across his body. Neither of them seemed to acknowledge the presence of newcomers, nor could those newcomers seem to interact with this environment in a conventional sense.
"If your house no longer has knights, I'll become the only one you'll need."
With a weak smile forming across his face, he stood and raised a stray twig to the sky. His arm shook such that even gripping it proved to be laborious.
"I won't be the best, and it won't be for long. But I'll throw my life away for that purpose!"
The obscured figure would slowly begin to raise their head towards Davil, and everything would fade away. The rest, from the perspective of the visitors looking in, was nowhere near as clear. It would bring about a similar feeling to the shifting from Castalia to Ascendia, with the same mile-a-minute sensation. It would feel as if it were a battle of wills, maintaining individuality and perception of the self amidst a blizzard of emotions and experiences. Glimpses of select moments of Davil's life would impact one after another - the boy sparring in the same courtyard time and again against various warriors, never once claiming victory. His will to go on wavered, weakening and strengthening as weeks passed into months and years, and yet he came no closer to what he could consider the power he needed. Even as a vision of crimson passed, no sense of fulfillment was felt. A recurring sparring partner lay dead in the courtyard at midnight, blood on Davil's curved blade, shuddering, and more importantly, the wails of concern from far off - from the one he loved unconditionally, so far away as to be meaningless. The man had ill intentions, perhaps? Or not? The boy could no longer remember, that night or any after, even as guilt gnawed at him. He was not good at dueling, in that moment of scarlet blur, as a knight was. There could never be a world where Davil Wund could fight.
He was good at killing.
As guards surrounded him with spears from all angles across the courtyard of the estate, his life over as they barked for him to drop the blade, his last thoughts were not selfless.
"I couldn't win, even once."
Thunk...
Thump.
CRACK.
All at once, the echoing thrums of a cracked shell exploded in the ears of the visitors. Reality had returned, and all were back in room 106 of the clinic to the sounds of the doctor's alarm droning on. Sylv's clawed arm was plunged into Davil's torso, and small tendrils prodded about him. Blood left him like he were a human faucet, but she persisted without remorse. "Stagnation has broken. Donate what nama and rupa you can, step back, and if you require it, compose yourselves and sit down."
After others had cleared the bedside, Sylv would all at once tear the scaled arm out of Davil and, in that same instant, use the tendrils shrouding it to grasp at the flasks she had placed, uncorking and dumping the contents of all three of them into the boy's open torso. Still maintaining a blank expression as it happened, Sylv's scaled arm would seem to flake and break off entirely, thudding to the floor of the clinic and smashing into a fine dust on the ground. A petrified stub remained where her right arm formerly was, though she regarded it with no particular interest. She would look across her assistants to gauge their physical and mental states, and state, "Mr. Wund will require constant bed rest for at least a week, but the worst has been tended to. Do any of you require medical attention?"
As she inquired, Davil's torso could be seen visibly sealing itself up. Ciara, for her part, would feel the jolt of an Umbralist’s presence near her. For the faintest moment in her mind, even in her dreamscape, she would hear the meek whine of the shadow imp exclaiming, “She’s going to kill me, she is… death of us all, that Raja! Death of us bloody all!”
