RP:Don't Go Breaking My Pod
Part of the The Ice Plague Cometh Arc
Open Snowfield
Synopsis: Ezekiel wanders through the frozen tundra and chances upon a black ice capsule. Inside, Josleen is trapped alive. Ezekiel bravely (or stupidly, depending on your inclination) tries to break the woman free. The ice pod bursts into a thousand shards and impales Ezekiel, infecting him with an evil corruption. After a tense interval during which Ezekiel wrestles with the evil's will to end Josleen's life, Ezekiel manages to flee, leaving the badly injured Josleen in the wilderness.
Ezekiel was back on the scene for take two: the hunt for clues. Previously on his journey through the frozen slopes of Frostmaw, he'd wandering carelessly into a cave of trolls, and narrowly escaped death once again. He had Hildegarde to thank for his rescue, if not for her he'd have been a frozen corpse somewhere along a path, deep in the woods. With his head patched up, he found himself setting out once more in search of anything that could lead him to answers to Satoshi's problem. The fact he couldn't find a soul besides that of barkeep back at the tavern worried him. Usually he had no problems with bumping into strangers out here in the frozen tundra, be it friend or foe. No matter, he'd press on till he found -something-. He was determined to be useful for once.. or at least try. The mage kept both hands stuffed in the pockets of his longcoat and trudged through the open field. It was colder than usual.
Josleen :: The snowfield’s calm makes it an oasis from the bitter bite of blizzard winds. Visibility here is so clear that were it not for the trees to the east and walls to the west, Ezekiel would be able to look out at the horizon for miles. Thus, given how clearly everything can be seen, it is surprising that halfway through the crossing, an oblong, smooth, chunk of black ice appears just 15 paces before the mage. No flash of bright light, no crackle of mysterious power, and no change in climate. It just is as if it always were, except short term memory insist it was not there a second ago. The ice is as long as a small adult. Suddenly, it moves - or better said, it struggles. The oblong ice trembles restlessly but stays rooted in the same spot.
Ezekiel would have ran into the thing had it not struggled to to move out of his way. At least that's what he assumed, anyways. He walked with his head down, always. Be it here in the frozen land of Frostmaw, or down the streets of Cenril. It wasn't until the moved that he found himself looking up, frozen in place much like the blackened ice. One hand was taken out of his pocket, and the other clenched at the fabric tightly. He wasn't sure what to do, so instead he did nothing; he stood there watching, waiting, hoping.
Josleen :: The black ice continues to thrash to no avail, moved by a force from within its center. A faint, muffled cry shouts from within the black ice, a sound rounded and low like the short vowel ‘e’, -- like in the word ‘help,’ for example.
Ezekiel might have flinched back once or twice, the sporadic thrashing doing a number on his not so calmed nerves. The guy was enough of a nervous mess as it was, waking up from a concussion with a bandaged head was not the best way to start the day, nor was facing a potential danger such as the one presented. Still, he persisted and advanced on the black ice. With each muffled tone that came from it, he hesitated and his hand hovered. Before long he made contact, his right hand was held flat against the surface praying nothing bad became of this. Great thinking, Ezekiel. Touch a mysterious shard of black ice that's struggling to move, nothing bad could happen.
Josleen :: Nothing bad does happen! At least, not right in this moment. Through the translucent ice, the mage can see a terrified, bruised, and bloodied young woman thrashing within a small bubble inside the ice capsule. That air supply is limited; a fact manifested as fear in the screaming woman’s panicked stare. She can see him too, and her gaze locks onto his, begging him to break her free. “Please!” she shouts, her voice barely passing through the thick ice. “HELP ME!” A short second to Ezekiel feels like an eternity to the trapped half-elf.
Ezekiel felt his heart stop the moment he saw the face. Living true to his nickname, the mage jumps and scurries back like a startled rabbit, eventually stumbling over his poorly coordinated feet and landing flat on his rear. He sits there looking up with both hands planted in this snow behind him, parts of his legs lost in the sea of snow. Gradually he gets back up to his feet and approaches the ice, hesitant about leaning in. He could see the fear on her face, and the panic in her eyes. He had to break her out, that was a given.. but how? Ezekiel looks at his palms, studies the metal rings sealed into his flesh and the leather surrounding. He couldn't help but wonder if this was Satoshi's test.. "H-Hello?"
Josleen pounds small, amateur fists on the ice. If she were ever to actually throw one of those fists with any weight behind it, she’d break her wrist. Thankfully, the air bubble is tight enough to prevent her from trying anything as silly as punching ice. Unfortunately, that tight air bubble is also an hourglass on her life, the depleting air standing in for grains of sand. “Help me, please! Please!” Her pleading calms from hysterical to purposeful. “Break me out! The monsters did this!” Josleen, champion of assumptions, has cooked up a theory of her own. “They left me here so they can come back later and eat me slowly! Just like Queen Satoshi said!” Perhaps not verbatim what Queen Satoshi said, but the champion of assumption is also the templar of inference. It was said between the lines - you had to be there, trust her, she knows. Whether or not the half-elf’s theory is true is up for academic debate. However, the truth matters little in this moment to the one trapped in the ice. She starts to weep. Nothing in her demeanor, attire, or aura, if one were privy to such things, suggests the woman possesses any ill will.
Ezekiel wasn't disputing the imminent danger she was in, he was questioning his own ability to stop it. He was a prime example of the word pessimistic. He had the chance to save her but he was too caught up in his lacking experience as a mage, or hero.. hell, even a human being. This had to be a test, he was sure of it. Maybe Satoshi's warning at the unfrozen garden was all a ruse just to set him up for this very moment. Questions buzzed in the man's head, dragging him deeper into self doubt; this was what these creatures fed on, was it not? "Hold.. Hold on-" Like she had a choice. With both hands up, the mage closed his fingers and shortly after, his eyes. The small metal rings in each palm quickly lit up, and two spheres of azure energy hummed to life. He was simply winging it because.. why not? If training to be a mage had taught him one thing, it was to go with the flow; both in life and magic, resistance caused hesitation, hesitation lead to demise. To stay alive, one simply had to keep moving. He opened his eyes and threw both hands forward, each palm smacking flat against the stone where the rings in his palm made a soft clink. The energy he had stored was released and the icy prism she was locked in took it all. Like a shock wave of kinetic energy, he'd hit the frozen monument with enough raw arcane energy to make it do something worthwhile.
Josleen :: This ice yearns to be shattered. At the slightest provocation, arcane or physical (and Ezekiel gave it both, that wiley dog), the ice quivers and gives like a blushing bride on her wedding night. Ezekiel is her groom, and under his skilled hands, this baby explodes. No, really, like literally, it explodes, into thousands of sharp tiny ice shards. Thankfully for Josleen, they all explode away from her body. As for Ezekiel, well, let’s just say he’ll rue the day he didn’t trust his gut instinct to leave mysterious black ice coffins well enough alone. All it takes is for one of the thousands of shard flying towards him to pierce his skin for the mage to be both proverbially and literally screwed. Each shard that pierces him doubles as a syringe, melting into his flesh to deliver an effective dose of grade A, unhinged, evil, parasitic corruption. This little poison went wee wee wee, all the way to the brain - and fast at that.
Ezekiel should have expected as much, since when did anything go smoothly in his favor? Hell, getting out of bed without stubbing his toe on the corner of the night stand was a small victory in itself. Setting a woman free from a prison of black ice, after blasting it with a great deal of raw energy had no good way of ending. While she was set free, he had no where to go back backwards with the resounding explosion that left him feeling like a human pincushion. He covered his face and lay there in the fetal position, his body feeling as if on icy fire wherever the slivers of ice managed to pierce. He kicked and clawed at the snow, pounded fiercely with a balled fist doing anything he could to null the pain.
Josleen rolls onto her side, protecting her face from the icy projectiles needlessly. Nothing comes for her. She is spared from being impaled. The parts of her not covered in tattered winter clothing are covered in bruises and dried blood. Adrenaline keeps her going well past the limitations of her injured body. She drags herself on her elbows towards Ezekiel, her left leg helping her slide across the ice and pull her bum right leg. The knee rattles laterally; knees aren’t meant to move laterally. Their roles reverse, and now she cries out to him for his sake rather than hers. She is not out of harm’s way, but his immediate danger supersedes her peril. “Let me!” she pleads, an arm reaching towards his face to remove the shards, but by the time she’s close enough to touch him, the shards have already melted. “Oh gods! Take a deep breath!” The tenor of his thrashing begins to scare her. Is this just pain or something else? Her hand slowly withdraws. She’s seen something like this just days ago in Frostmaw. “...Sir, talk to me. What do you feel?” Her clipped, hurried speech betrays her newfound fear. She searches the whites of his eyes for blackness.
Ezekiel kept one arm against his bloody and skewered face, the other to his torso. If snow were coal, he'd be making diamonds with how hard he gripped, the pain was unlike anything he'd felt before. The burn of dry ice, as cold as it was, left a hot, searing impression- all of which left his body on fire. Metaphorically speaking, of course. He could hear the woman's voice, barely. The rush of dark and foul thoughts blurred his perception, leaving him to question reality right now. Was he dead? Or was he dying? A terrible dream, perhaps. The doubt and question he felt moments before breaking the ice intensified, grew into something worse. It was evolving into hate and anguish, resent for having ignored his instincts and inevitably putting himself in this position. He'd sit up over time and even though he had half his face covered, she'd see the side that wasn't. There was blackness around his eyes, naturally; that much came from his insomnia, albeit in the form of dark circles under his eyes. But the whites of his eyes weren't right, no. They weren't really white anymore, and this was a problem. "Y-you.. you did this.."
Josleen falls back on his rump and pushes distance between them with her palms against the snow. “N-no! No, I didn’t! I swear! I couldn’t, wou-” she chokes on her own panic. A chant a certain paladin invoked to free his sister of this evil rushes to the forefront of Josleen’s mind. “I can save you!” She whispers the archaic invocation. Nothing happens. Silly bard, divine interventions are for paladins! “...no, no, no!” she stutters breathlessly. She thinks back to guidance Eliason imparted on Aela when she was corrupted. “You have to fight it, Sir! I know you’re in there!” She doesn’t, but a little knowledge bluff and hero mimicry is all she has up her sleeve. As she speaks, she continues to butt-slide away from Ezekiel, her left leg lending her the same speed her torn knee denies. She’s a target. What can she do to change his bullseye? “The Ice Devils did this! They put me in the ice! Fight this evil, and fight them! Not me; I want to help you!” There is no bluff in her speech now -- only an honest plea.
Ezekiel was looking like a relative of Harvey Dent's right about now, especially when he pulled his arm away to show off the marred flesh. Bloodied, torn, and looking like something from a horrible accident.. which was more or less what it was, Ezekiel slid back much how she did. He was barely here right now, the real Ezekiel that was; our panicking, skittish rabbit of a novice mage. The voice of doubt and deceit weighed heavy on his mind, dark thoughts sinking their dirty little fingers into fragile will. A part of him was reaching out, begging to hold on, teetering at the edge of sanity. The whites of his eyes continued to recede, and with every passing second his brows furrowed in anger. All he wanted to do was help, not just her, but Satoshi. He wanted to take their teachings, the Queen and Svilfon's guidance, and put it to positive use. He tried to stop the crimes in Cenril, but was chased from the city all together. Everything he tried to help, fired back and blew up in his face.. literally. This was what raced through his foggy mind, and this was the doubt he'd react to. The corruption took advantage of every chance Ezekiel provided. The tome at his side fell open and the mage looked down, then back at Josleen.
Josleen witnesses the internal struggle of wills within Ezekiel, but is powerless to intervene. She mimics everything Eliason did to aid Aela and yields nothing. She feels like a child again. Back when her illusionist father would instruct her on the basics of spell work, and despite her best efforts, she couldn’t even heat up a stone. Later she discovered that she could wield some magical acumen through song, but her powers never extended beyond the ability to light a candle or kill a house fly. Her voice grows hoarse from pleading with Ezekiel to fight the evil within him. What can she latch onto? She doesn’t know his name; she doesn’t know his story. She has nothing but the assumption that the man trapped in that blistered body has good will. What does she have to lose by trying to sing her desire? She desires nothing more than to grant the true Ezekiel the power to fight the evil. It’s a rather saintly aspiration, borne of her gentle nature. She doesn’t have an instrument, so her thighs will have to do. She slaps a beat on her thighs, her left leg’s scrape against the snow providing a counter beat. The first push of her leg is directed slightly off center, spraying snow onto the tome to occult its potent runes from maleficent black eyes. It’s a feeble stalling attempt, but the bard is grasping at straws here. Lyrics naturally assume an ambiguity akin to that of spells. She sings, “Don’t look at me like that, black eyes. We know you’re quite ill. Succumb to this noble stranger, grant him his freewill. Had I known what trouble, lay in that black stone, I’d have turned him away, and accepted my tomb. To me, you shall loan him. I have something to say. To him my gratitude forever I shall pay. Return him now, return him swift, if only for a moment, I’ll take that gift.” The beat is crude, the lyrics poorly improvised, but the bard’s recent frays with evil and her natural propensity to aid others makes her a better wielder of white magic. Perhaps she struggles to kill a fly through magic because killing is not in her nature -- but aiding is. It’s hard to say if the Ice Devil’s magic has had enough time to take root too strong for the bard to undo temporarily. With luck, Ezekiel’s own will couples with the bard’s song to grant him a short reprieve from the corruption. Josleen hasn’t had much luck these days, but still she hopes for the return of white to his eyes.
Ezekiel saw the woman, heard the voice, and for a split second.. looked as if he could overcome this ordeal. At least.. until the snow was kicked at his tome. The fragile bridge of hope she'd extended snapped and with it any chance of reverting the man inside. Brows that were knitted in confusion angled sharply in rage, eyes that were pushing back the white snapped shut and the balled fist at his side opened with another handful of energy. This book meant a lot to him, it was a show if how much he'd came to learn in the past few months, and seeing the snow kicked so carelessly about its pages was the fine line she'd cross. This wasn't Ezekiel, everyone knew that; if anything, the real Eze would have apologized for having been in the wrong place, rather accuse the bard of doing it on purpose. What came next was both unexpected and the last show of consciousness he had. Instead of unleashing the energy upon the bard, he set off the runes buried in his palms and left in a flash of azure light. Runes of teleportation, an artifact he'd found a year ago wandering the nameless. Ezekiel, at least the kind soul inside did what he could to keep her safe, and removed himself entirely from the field. Where he'd land, he did not know, one thing was for sure. He wouldn't be himself when he did. Josleen was left alone in the field of snow.
Josleen is not only a terrible bard, but also a bad librarian. Thank the gods Ezekiel has a firmer grasp on himself than the bard has on, well, anything. Perhaps her superpower is incredible luck. Here she is once again surviving against all odds. That’s really all she ever wants: to survive. To make it to the next day and see, hear, taste, smell, feel. Right now, those senses fade as her adrenaline exhausts. The sharp ache of her fractured rib blossoms. Her knee throbs. Cold sets stiffness in her muscles, and an inky blackness clouds her own vision as unconsciousness takes her.