Closing Lamentations

[Eitan Angevin]

Eitan had poured much of his own power into Stefan's device. He was the strongest warder the Order had ever known, and he had mostly overcome the psychological impact of his oversharing—if he was still somewhat certain he was indestructable, the existence of his family made some risks too great, and Stefan liked to house him in this dragonshard-powered armor. He was a tank. Some of the Watchers had started to call him the Warder, or the Warden of Zaichaer. He wore their nicknames and honorifics with silent pride. Many things and people had tried to stop him, tried to kill him; nevertheless, he persisted.

Here he was, watching Stefan's back as he set up the containment device. His masterful wards were ready to slam up at need, either to augment the container or to protect them from the Kalzasern witch.

It seemed to go off without a hitch, Stefan stepping away from the trap, until his brother-in-law's helmet face was splattered with vomit.

"Dornkirk, report," he snapped. If it sounded angry, it was merely concerned. Everything was heightened in this dangerous situation.

His eyes flickered over the gauges and displays in his peripheral vision even as he continued to use his eyes to assess their peril. He needed to know that his brother-in-law, their First Minister pro tempore, was copacetic or else he would have to ward him against everything he could think of, which might just cut off communication between the suits.

Eitan could feel the psychic attack battering his defenses, holding off on strengthening them until he had more intelligence. In the meantime, "Angevin to Airship. The device has been deployed. Repeat: the device has been deployed."

"Heard, Captain-Seeker," came over the communications. He could almost feel the tension rising around him, and he could only hope his bile would rise with it as well. They couldn't all of them be distracted by rebellious nerves and stomachs if this became a fight or more complicated than their best case scenarios.

[Stefan Dornkirk]

The device hummed to life, each shard in the complex pattern slowly winking to life with aether, like a coal heating from the inside until it was glowing brightly. The Negation shields, in this case meant to contain and concentrate the mistress of this den from whatever substance she had become and pull her into the exceptionally large shard that was the heart of the aether net, furled open around the group. The shields of each Order member overlapped, starting beyond what would be considered the border of the area claimed by Lyra and pulling in slowly. The function was quite simple, little more than a scoop in the shape of a sphere that went both up into the sky and down below the current level of ground. The shields wouldn't do any damage, or even cause pain, their only purpose was to collect and condense any aetheric power within them. The whole operation was centered on the web of dragonshards so that, in the end, whatever had been in the area to begin with, living or otherwise, that contained even a trace of aether, would be drawn to the net, and, once there, the net itself would latch on, sucking all of it into the central stone before closing itself off.

Simple contraptions, in concept at least, always seemed best to Stefan, even when making them turned out to be devilishly complicated. He was not thinking about any of these things at the moment. No, in that moment, as the trap began its slow springing, he was only thinking about the acid burn of his throat and trying to clear it so he could draw a clear and even breath.

His higher instincts were screaming at him to close the helmet of his armor, his lesser, and in this case stronger ones, were demanding he leave it open at least until he had cleared away the rest of the sick from both his throat and his visor. The problem was, it was becoming significantly harder to think, with it open, and even though he could, in fact, breathe now, his instinctual panic was not subsiding, it was growing worse. He knew, of course he knew, that what he was experiencing was almost certainly due to the magic that was being used to deter him and the others from their mission. The problem was that knowing this did not seem to have any effect at all. Thinking logically was becoming increasingly difficult and the desire to flee, or better yet, simply lay down and die, was washing over him in nauseating waves that had nothing to do with his stomach any longer. Could one regurgitate one's soul?

His brain seemed to be trying to tell him something but it took a long moment before he realized that Eitan had asked him something. Being unsure of what he had been asked did not, in this case, mean he was not sure of the answer. The comms channel was still open, so he choked out,

"Don't let them stop. Get it done."

Because, even if he was dying, or going to die as a result, wherever he ended up, Brenner would be there. Even if wherever atheist went after their deaths was some sort of punishment designed by all the spurned gods, Stefan's brother would be there and Stefan would be able to tell him that he'd died doing this.

[Rune]

R E V I E W

Points: 15 each for Stefan, Eitan and Lyra
May be used for magic

Injuries/Ailments: Stefan was severely injured internally, four members of the Order and twelve military personnel died during or immediately after the encounter and no one left uninjured.

Loot: One Daemithillium dragonshard containing the soul and consciousness of Lyrielle tu Kovash Elmari.

Notes: Due to this being over a year old I am closing it out, I believe those involved have discussed the ramifications and expectations.

Mod XP: Mirage: 2