RP:Rabbit's Shadow
Part of the The Ice Plague Cometh Arc
Xalious Mountains
Ezekiel was wandering in the opposite direction he'd intended, Frostmaw's borders were where he needed to be. To be fair, he wasn't quite himself.. the Ice Devil's parasitic corruption had taken over completely. Josleen would have been spared a nasty demise had she not been abandoned in the middle of the frozen field, broken and bruised. Ezekiel, at least the kind, skittish Ezekiel we all knew removed himself from the woman lest he do something he'd ultimately regret. That man was gone now, lost in a world of darkness, blanketed with dark thoughts and corrupt evil. He was just a host and the sickness its conductor. The mage wandered aimlessly down the mountain's path, eyes a solid black, searching for something, someone- anything it could spread to.
Vehara , with her rather lousy luck as of late, just so happens to be moving in the other direction; this means her path will intersect with Ezekiel's in a matter of mere moments. The half-drow appears as a rather slender figure striding toward the more frigid area northward, a climate appropriate cloak enveloping much of her form. The apparently possessed man is merely given a tip of her head in passing, the sort of greeting one gives to a random stranger.
Ezekiel wasn't in the best of shape, mentally and physically. Having broken the bard's tomb, he was blown backwards and stuck with dozens of icy shards, some being the infamous black ice that had been infecting the best of men and woman alike. The left side of his face was caked with dry blood and his jacket sporting hundreds of little holes. His overall posture was nothing more than a staggered gait, possibly due to a nasty wound. "What?" The blackness enveloping the whites of his eyes surged, almost misted in reaction. His infection took to feeding on the insecurities that plagued him daily. Thrived on the negative thoughts he was a slave to, the same emotions that left him socially crippled in the most mundane of social interactions. With a little hate and some corruption to feed it, things he'd never say found a way out. "A nod, a wave, another glance away.." By the time she was passing, he reached out to shove her shoulder. "Am I not good enough for a simple hello?" This was not Ezekiel.
Vehara blinks when she's shoved, rolling with the force of it so she's left facing the apparent offender. The cloaked hood is pulled back swiftly, revealing her ebon-skinned features and the equally dark hair that comes to settle around her shoulders. "...Excuse me?" One good look at the man is enough to tell her all is not right, however; she may not be well aware of this curse, but Ezekiel's eyes and his general battered appearance have him resembling some kind of zombie. Accordingly, the half-drow's eyes narrow to slits. "What...is this?" She mutters, preemptively moving either hand to hidden hilts along her sides.
Ezekiel more or less fit the description, his features- and the way he moved -were as zombie like as it got. The man had no control, he'd lost all control when he gave in to the darkness by removing himself from Josleen in the field of snow. It was the last act of humanity he had; to remove not just himself, but whatever this darkness was from the poor woman. Somewhere lost in that clouded mind of his, her song was still sung. Again he'd reach out, trying to shove her even further but judging by the look of things, he'd not make it far. "Headed north to mock me? Like it's that easy to survive.. 'what is this'.." he spat at the ground, the evil voice in his head used whatever it could to push him. "I did it for a year.. but no one recognized it. I'm nobody, to them. To her.. anything." He rambled on.
Vehara adopts a bemused expression, tilting her head aside slightly. Now this strange individual is blathering on like some sort of drunk. Not entirely sure of her options, the half-drow takes a half step back and seeks to turn northward once more. She does, however, offer some kind of reply to his cryptic rambling. "Well...I'm sorry to hear that. Are you sure you don't need a little direction? There's an inn not so far from here, you know. In Craughmoyle." The words carry so little weight, however, as she believes they will almost certainly go unheeded.
Ezekiel moved like a marionette and the Ice Devil's corruption was tugging on the strings of his fate. He watched her with those clouded eyes, but in truth he wasn't really hearing a word she said. The insanity that was building inside acted to its own beat, and right now that beat was speeding up. There were no more words, just actions, and right now those actions were going to cost someone their life. He pulled his left hand back and drew forth the magical energy he was chalk full of. An azure light beamed brightly while it was gathered, and it would manifest in spherical design before released. Where it was aimed, none other than Vehara of course. It was a sluggishly slow attack, easily avoidable, but not to be taken lightly. The mage had far too much power than he could control, and right now.. he was anything but in control.
Vehara dismisses her gaze from Ezekiel when he seems to offer no sort of reply nor a sign of comprehension, thinking it all quite hopeless. She begins to move northward, but those footfalls come to a sudden stop when her slightly elven ears pick up a familiar crackling; such a sound she's only ever heard when mages or sorcerors conjure arcane energies. Turning swiftly on a heel, Hara moves just in time to avoid the spherical mass, launching into a mechanical leap that ends in her form rolling across the flesh of the earth like some kind of tumbleweed. Knowing Ezekiel can't possibly be in his right mind, Vehara plots a different approach. Leaping to her feet with athletic grace, the woman advances on the seemingly zombified man with all the celerity expected of her mixed heritage, closing in on him in an instant. Foregoing daggers or other weaponry for this obviously troubled individual, Hara simply clinches her fists and brings them to bear upon him in a pair of wide hooks that aim to crash into his chin in rapid succession. Her leg comes next, snapping up in a kick that leaves her heel racing toward Ezekiel's cheek - she doesn't seek to kill the man...just beat the aggression out of him.
Ezekiel could only watch from behind the glass, a voice lost in the sea of darkness that was now his mind. It was strange, he could see everything as it happened, but had absolutely no control. It was like a bad dream playing out that he had to endure, and his only hope was this corruption didn't do anything he couldn't undo. So far.. he'd made enemies with a stranger, he may have been socially incapable, but he wasn't rude. He was reeling back, ready to fire another blast of unstable arcane energy when the first hook landed. He saw the side of the mountain- the sea of trees below on the opposite side, the cloudy skies.. and eventually, the dirt on the well worn path. His head snapped back and forth with concerning speed, each hit landing as intended. The mage picked himself up off the ground, and made a staggering lurch towards her. Even in madness and corruption, he was absolutely useless. Why anyone took the time to invest in him, he'd never know. Both palms hummed with energy, the strings of the marionette were tugged once more, and the mage aimed to fire two beams of explosive energy at Vehara.
Vehara retreats when those pulses of light appear in Ezekiel's hands, chewing nervously on her bottom lip. Such a basic attack is pretty easy to avoid with enough distance, but she doesn't have a lot of it at the moment. The beams lance toward her and once more she leaps forth, but the volatile energy contained within those columns erupts in a booming explosion just in her wake. The result is less than ideal - Hara is propelled into the air with far more force than expected, leaving her with a less than graceful landing upon the unforgiving earth. It's enough to elicit a slight groan and leave the half-drow lurching to her feet, wincing at a rather stinging sensation spreading in her side; perhaps a bruised rib. Nevertheless, she ignores the path and races forth at Ezekiel, not exactly willing to get blasted at again. With some effort she bends at the knees and launches over the man, though her landing doesn't come as easy and draws another pained wince. As one might expect, acrobatics are stunted when you're hurt. Situated behind Ezekiel now, Hara seeks to snake an arm beneath his chin and clamp down on one of those vital arteries in the neck; clearly, the aim is to compress until he simply loses consciousness. A puppeteer likely can't make use of an unconscious man...or so she hopes.
Ezekiel was helpless. Even consumed by darkness and directed by evil forces, his footwork was nothing shy of stumbled flailing.. and in this case, wildly cast beams of energy. He watched helplessly from behind the glass that was his eyes, awed by the woman's finesse and apologetic for something he couldn't control. He never wanted any of this, he was too quiet for that. If the mage could hide himself away in a library full of tomes and a workshop full of parts, he could die a content man; not necessarily happy, but it was more than something to Ezekiel. He lost her once more in the fanciful display of acrobatics, ready to bomb the entire side of the mountain if this kept up. But instead she caught him off guard, and put him in a choking headlock of the sorts. Using his body at its disposal, the corruption drew ample amounts of energy, sparing nothing in tapping the mage for all he had. While she squeezed his precious neck, the crackling hum of energy grew. Several seconds passed and just when it seemed he were about to unleash it all at once, his arms fell limp. Then his head, then his shoulders, and eventually, his whole body. The half-drow narrowly avoided Hollow's version of a suicide mage-bomber by seconds. The man, if she let him, could crumple to an unconscious heap on the mountain path.
Vehara narrows her eyes when that familiar crackling builds once more, no doubt from the mage summoning and building an intense amount of energy. This could potentially be very bad should he reach the peak of his power before the blood flow to the brain is sufficiently strangled, and as such her grip tightens further. Very fortunately, the half-drow begins to feel the man go limp, drifting to a relatively peaceful sleep - or as peaceful as sleep can be when it is brought on by someone strangling you. She gradually lowers him to the ground, the pressure lessening by the second until she simply lets go. That does not mean Vehara abandons him, however; indeed, she simply stares at the man from her perch just above him, her mind silently racing with just what she should do to rid him of this by now obvious curse.
Ezekiel was in the most awkward of positions, both legs were crossed over one another while his head was tucked under his arm. He laid there in the middle of the path, looking more like a corpse than an unconscious mage. Imagine explaining this one, to any passing by. Ezekiel knew nothing of this curse, let alone knew consciously it was affecting him as such. To best describe his predicament, he was sitting in a single ray of light, in an otherwise world of complete, and pitch blackness. Josleen's little ballad she'd created on the spot filled his ears, but no source could be found; nothing could be found. In front of him were two windows, fogged and cracked- showing what his eyes saw, but offering nothing else. The others had been cleansed in various ways: Hildegarde the Silver, by divine magic. Satoshi, by blood pact. Ezekiel.. by choke hold. If only. For now, it seemed his fate was in her hands.
Vehara is still looming over the now unconscious Ezekiel, her mind fast at work for some sort of solution. She has no divine power herself and very limited magic, so the most obvious choices are clearly out of the question. Very carefully, she turns the man over onto his back and begins to look over his battered form. All about she seeks for signs of anything that may indicate his curse; a wicked insignia, a hexed charm, these sort of things. She's also mindful of his injuries, surveying the severity of any incurred upon his form.
Eliason has wandered from the frozen lands of Frostmaw on another run to Chartsend. This back and forth is beginning to take its toll on the man, especially considering the circumstances of his last trip. Duty, however, knows no time-table and work must get done in spite of the legionnaire's weariness. Thus, with dark-circled eyes and roiling emotions, he moves quietly down the path toward Craughmoyle. The last thing that the man had expected was the dark form of Vehara crouched over an unconscious man. Guilt over his final words to the half-drow fill his thoughts, but he quickly banishes them as he approaches. "Vehara...I ..." Not sure exactly what to say, he instead waves toward Ezekiel. "What happened?"
Ezekiel had dried blood all on the left side of his face, earned by the explosive shrapnel that was the black ice tomb. Aside from that, a few bruises on his face thanks to Vehara was about it. His clothes for the most part, were intact and mostly clean, but the same couldn't be said for his coat. Worn and tattered, it looked like something he'd hung onto for some years. He had medium length hair, messy as ever and a grizzly five o' clock shadow. Even if this was typically normal for the mage, it might suggest otherwise to someone else. Almost as if he'd been like this for quite some time. Truth be told, he'd been corrupt for no more than a day.
Vehara just so happens to finish up her appraisal of Ezekiel when Eliason appears, the sound of his voice bringing her eyes shifting toward him swiftly. They narrow slightly upon the man, but personal business can be handled later; right now, this stranger's well being is more important. "I can't tell you for sure. I was headed back toward Frostmaw and he attacked me, but he clearly was not himself. He lurched about like a zombie and his eyes...were most peculiar." The half-drow stands now, though she still stays very close just in case he wakes up. "Kept rambling on with nonsense until he attacked when I attempted to leave. I think he's hexed, Eli."
Eliason nods at Vehara's words, eyes lowering to rest on the man. There were many things that needed to be said between the legionnaire and the half-drow, but this man must be attended to first. Moving forward, the big man settles onto a knee next to the ragged looking stranger and sets a hand upon his forehead. Quietly, the paladin begins to mutter words in an ancient language. Slowly, Eli's hand begins to glow with a faint white light, a light that almost immediately begins to turn dark. Ripping his hand away with a light curse, he shakes it as if he has been stung by something. Turning that familiar sapphire gaze toward Vehara he speaks softly. "Did he mention anything about Frostmaw? It could be the same thing that infected Lady Hildegarde..."
Ezekiel moved his left foot quietly while fingers clenched at the mountain path. He wasn't exactly coming back around, it was just his body reacting to the faint light at the paladin's hand. Somewhere in that head of his, he was fighting to make contact.
Vehara tips her head in a slight nod of affirmation. "I believe so. Were you able to remove it from Hildegarde? He's unconscious for now...I simply choked him out, but he won't stay asleep forever. As well, I'm no expert on the supernatural, but I'd bet strangulation doesn't cleanse a curse....so when he wakes up, it could get ugly." Her eyes flick back to Eliason once more, keeping Ezekiel in her peripheral vision for any sudden movement. "Know any quick fixes?"
Eliason sighs and shakes his head, eyes growing distant. "No, not any quick fixes. We were able to cleanse Lady Hildegarde..." Meeting Vehara's gaze, he smiles sadly and licks his lips. "I'm going to try to do this. But I might need you to... revive me if things go bad. I almost lost a sister to this thing..." Without waiting for a response, the paladin scoots himself over and straddles the unconscious man's belly. Setting a hand upon each of the man's cheeks, Eli begins chanting archaic prayers. The white light returns to his hands and begins flowing from him into the unconscious body. This goes on for several seconds before the flow suddenly reverses and a darkened light begins flowing back into the legionnaire. If the healing works, the wounds on Ezekiel's face would begin to close just as identical wounds open on the face of the paladin. Eli would take the wounds, along with the evil into himself to do battle within.
Ezekiel :: The dried blood would remain, but the holes inflicted by the shrapnel would close. The white light he'd pressed to his flesh spared no time in knitting the skin close, each sliver and cut pulling together as it rapidly healed. If only the poor mage were conscious for this, he'd have a panic attack on the spot; the contact between Eli's hand and his face was enough. The straddling of his stomach was overboard. Leave it to the antisocial haphephobic mage to end up in this kind of situation. While the corruption was slowly pulled from him, he kicked his foot out again, hand curled into fists. His body was coming around, bus hid mind had much to catch up with.
Eliason continues chanting, his voice growing louder with each worder. The strain of the wounds along with the evil presence being poured into him elicits a cry of shock from the paladin. Once the light flowing from Ezekiel's body turns white once more, the paladin lets out one final chant before pulling his hands free and rolling to the side. Tucking himself into a ball, he groans with pain and with the intense conflict erupting within.
Ezekiel came around after the third kick, which was more or less his leg scraping at the loose gravel anyways. He'd take his time sitting up, one hand flat on the ground keeping him stable while the other held the side of his head. Why did it feel like he'd been punched a few times in the head? Probably because he was, and took a knee to the jaw, too! Ezekiel sat there dazed and confused, looking around the highlands. It wasn't long before he saw the paladin's body curled up next to his, and it was here he'd panic. Waking up sore and confused as bad enough; not the first time, but still. Waking up sore, confused and sitting next to a limp body was something else. “H-Hey..” He called once, “Hey- buddy?” This time he nudged his shoulder. Where was he and how did things get so messed up?