hadriel_logs | Event Log: Predator vs. Prey

Entry tags:

Event Log: Predator vs. Prey

Who: All characters participating in the event
What: The event log for the Predator vs Prey event
Where: All over the city
When: March 13th-March 21st
Warnings: None

It all starts with an explosion, because Rage is excellent at managing her anger. But an explosion isn't enough - she hasn't worked out all her feeling yet. Not until the city itself has gotten caught up in her anger at Fear for being unable to save Delight. And yeah, that means you.

So now you're a predator (Rage) or prey (Fear). You want to hunt, or you're being hunted. Maybe you were defenseless before, or maybe you're the sort who no one could be afraid of... but it's different now, because the gods are passing on their blessings to you. All the better to catch and kill, or run and hide.

What will you do? Try to resist the urge? Good luck with that. Who would want to resist, anyway, when it feels so right to give in? Hunt someone down like a cat after a mouse, or flee like a deer before wolves. Maybe you can find someone to help you, whether that means hunting in packs or looking for safety in numbers. Who knows, maybe you'll even make a few new friends while trying to kill your old ones.

► This log covers March 13th-March 21st.
► Please tag headers of threads with content warnings where they apply
► Please put your character's name and open/closed in the subject line of your starters!
► If you get caught by a predator or have things turned on you by your prey, please let us know here.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Only a few days have passed since Caedra's return to the city. Every step toward it away from the bunker had dragged, even at the quick pace she and Law had set. They needed to return, to make it back before the gods could move the city because as much as she hates this place and its people, she needs to crack that Door and its secrets open if she's ever to go home again. But it's hard all the same. There is no lure to be with mortals whose souls are dangled in front of her like carrots, only to be snatched away and revived before they can be crushed in her grasp.

The explosion breaks the tedium of her life in the city, and at the sound, the feeling, the force, Caedra looks toward the point of destruction with a grin. Finally! Perhaps a Null attack? Something she can unleash her destruction on without being blamed as the sole cause of violence? Ah, what fortune. But there are no Null to be seen and no explanation comes.

Not that she wants one. Whatever restraint she usually exercises unravels rapidly, and she draws her blade, forming the familiar black hilt in her palm. She now understands the rush of emotion, the source if not the reason, for she has been here a full year and the gods have toyed with her just like the rest. And as she's filled with thoughts of blood and murder, she embraces the change.

Time to descend upon these pathetic mortal vermin and reduce them to entrails and ash.

((If you haven't already arranged something but want to talk about it, Caedra's plotting post for this event is right here.))

Edited 2019-03-15 01:10 (UTC)

Pratt comes off as a ball of nervous tension but the reality of that is he's constantly trying to stay on top of everything around him. He's not scared exactly, he just doesn't want to be caught off guard. Weak. Outnumbered. Outmaneuvered.

But as he heads back from the range to his house he's suddenly overcome with an wave of absolute pure terror. A sensation he hasn't truly felt since he was trapped in Jacob's bunker and left to die. Panic rises in his chest and he actually gasps out loud - shocked by the feeling.

He has no idea what's happening, the explosion is completely forgotten as he is overwhelmed with the need to run. He's panting, his pulse thrumming in his ears and he hunches over with his hands clutching the side of his head to try and think through it.

Where can he run to? Where is safety?

Trying to take deep breaths to calm the sudden and frenzied palpitations of his heart he looks around. Nothing. Only the need to get away.

He takes off running towards his house. It may not be safe there but it'll be a good place to try and wrestle himself under control again.

People are hiding, are trying to skirt open spaces, and like the jariliths she surrounds herself with at home, Caedra watches the edges for movement. Edges of her vision, edges of roads and buildings - each little flicker is tantalizing. She hears breathing and footsteps as someone dashes past and her only thought is to chase and kill.

This one is familiar, as she bolts after him and realizes momentarily later who it is. Yes, this frightened little thing has skittered around her before. Verbally, if not physically, but it's no shock to see him running. With a hiss of breath and a chanted phrase, she casts. A hex, aiming to slow him down and keep him from slipping away. There are so many to kill, and time spent missing with her sword is time wasted.

"Pratt!" she calls out after, her voice more of a snarl than usual. "Where do you think you're going?"

If this was a normal day he might snarl something back, or demand to know how she keeps fucking finding him whenever he's having the worst day ever. But this is not a normal day and he's far too terrified to be able to have any form of snarky banter.

He chances a single glance over his shoulder to make sure she's not somehow two inches away from him and darts away to try and get anywhere that isn't here.

Or well, that's the idea anyway. As soon as he turns to skitter between some houses he's suddenly aware that he's not gaining much ground. What the hell? He reaches forward to put a hand out trying to force himself to move even faster by propelling his body forward via pushing off the wall with his palms. It's only mildly effective and his panicked breath is threatening to choke him.

He makes a strangled noise, looking for anywhere to hide, or barring that something to defend himself with.

All he sees is a porch to cower behind and try to get his body back under control so he can dash off again.

He must be utterly terrified if he's not saying a single word in reply, she decides. Good. She may not be one of the many tanar'ri that feeds more on fear than flesh, but she can appreciate the entertainment of a terrified target.

With him slowed, she doesn't even need to catch up on foot alone. She runs after him until he turns the corner, and though he's still a good distance away, she narrows the gap - and then before his heel retreats around the corner, she reaches into the air with her off-hand and twists the nothingness in her palm.

The slight lead Pratt had on her vanishes in seconds. She fades from view and reappears from shadows as they coalesce at the corner he had just passed and for a moment she's close enough to reach out and touch him, but he slips past before she can reach out with her sword to run him through.

"You've never run from me, have you? Not like this," she teases, voice brimming with hunger behind the amused tone as she positions herself and strikes with the rapier, hoping his hiding place will become a trap from which he'll struggle to escape.

What should he do? He's unarmed, he has nowhere safe to run to and she's gaining on him. And then not only gaining but right behind him. Crying out in fear, an involuntary sound that he's going to hate himself for later, he pushes off from the porch and rolls away, narrowly avoiding getting skewered.

Having nothing better to do he picks up a handful of dirt and small pebbles and flings it at her as she recovers from the lunge with the rapier. Maybe later he might feel a little smug about dirtying her outfit, but right now he couldn't care less. He just wants to get away and get to safety.

At this point he's panicking not only from the fear surrounding him and the fact that Caedra is chasing him, but because he's scared that this is a precursor to something even worse. The last time he felt like this was with Jacob in the bunker - and that thought is bringing in a whole flood of emotions and memories that he didn't want to ever have to deal with. His head is pounding, his legs aren't obeying him the way they should - everything is wrong about this.

He careens around the building, running as fast as possible and looking back over his shoulder to see if she's gaining.

Unfortunately that means he's not looking at where he's going so he slams into the railing of a small deck at full speed, knocking part of it over and falling in a heap on the other side.

The explosion was unexpected, even more so than the usual unexpected occurrences that Carlisle has come to... well, expect from Hadriel. That doesn't mean he doesn't take it seriously: he looks to the temple, his brow furrowing, and decides to turn from the course he'd made toward his garden. It will survive the day while he says home, he reminds himself, picking up the pace -- or at least until Glacius returns and can escort him there. Better safe than sorry, especially when it comes to explosions, as they tend to never be good signs.

Little does he know he has other plans, ones which are improvised on the spot the second he sees Pratt, pursued by a woman with black eyes, tumble over the railing of the deck of a nearby house. His own, glowing eyes dart to the woman, and while Carlisle doesn't know for certain this lady is a demon -- or even the demon Atem was so desperate to protect his friends from -- if he had to pick out a person from town and decide whether or not they were of the mortal planes on nothing more than an initial impression, he knows what his answer would be regarding her.

He doesn't even stop to think -- fear would have normally gotten in the way if he had. He remembers all too well the possessed Emily, the glyphs he had used to seal her. They hadn't worked. It was while he was recovering from her attack that he'd come up with new ones meant not to seal a threat away so much as seal himself from said threat. He'd learned a lot about abjuration then, and had put that knowledge to good use with the barriers he'd constructed around his garden. He was honestly starting to think he'd never actually use such a ward against a being out for blood.

Well. No time like the present.

Carlisle's hand is already digging in the satchel at his side as he ducks to the ground, producing a piece of chalk as he reaches it less than a breath later; he spins in a circle, the pressure on the shard in his hand so hard that it digs into the ground beneath him. Another turn, and he draws the inner circle to make the platform of the glyph. His arm darts before him, beside him, before him again, inscribing in a matter of seconds a sizable glyph that had taken him weeks to fully develop and memorize. He'd never gotten the chance to put it to the test, and had honestly hoped he never would.

Now, he just hopes it will work, or his impulsive decision could be the death of both of them. He will never be a brave man, but he knows when he cannot stand idly, leaving his friends to their fates. They would not leave him to his, after all. It certainly would have been easier to flee, but if his time in Hadriel has taught him anything, it is that some demons -- internal and otherwise -- cannot be outrun.

With his glyph fully constructed in the span of a few heartbeats, he calls to Pratt, still kneeling with his hands at the contact point, ready to activate it.

"Deputy, to me! Quickly!"

Even with the curse Caedra has bestowed on him, Pratt moves quickly, and she growls under her breath as he spins aside, propelled by his terror. Alas, she had been so close! He practically reeks of adrenaline, and she can almost taste it in the air.

Well, and she can taste dirt, too, and suddenly. The handful catches her in the face and across her chest and it slows her a half-step, just enough to let him gain more ground as she spits out grit and keeps chasing.

A few things happen almost simultaneously. Caedra readies a bolt of magic to fling at the back of Pratt's head when he ends up in a heap on the ground, causing the spell to fly right over the top of his head. Another person calls out from a short distance away, and Caedra would ignore him and go for the easy kill just for the sheer brutality of it, but she catches sight of the chalk markings. The glyph she doesn't have time to even study, but whatever the man is doing reminds her of a spell she's very familiar with - magic circle. Often used by summoners to protect themselves from her kind - or trap a summoned demon in its little cell. Pratt is down and may take a moment to get up again, and hexed, he's less of a priority as he will be very easy to just teleport to if he tries to escape. But this mage? If he knows a spell like that, he might be dangerous in other ways.

"Come to join us, have you?" Caedra snarls as she takes her attention off her victim and looses a second bolt of jet-black force at the intruder, on the off chance she can hit him hard enough to disrupt him. Pratt is the one she's here for, so what does he think he's doing?

Trying to focus amidst the panic, it takes Pratt far longer than it should to struggle out from the deck and get to his feet. The hex is definitely not helping as it's taking all his concentration to just move. Vaguely he hears someone talking, but it doesn't register for a few seconds while he looks around for Caedra, expecting her to be right on top of him.

But he spots Carlisle first.

That must be who called out and a full minute later he finally processes the words. Caedra has turned her attention from the deputy to the mage and Pratt's fear for himself somehow makes way for an even deeper concern that she'll go after Carlisle instead. He refuses to allow that. Not after all the man has done for him so far.

The marks on the ground mean little to him, maybe if he wasn't so cranked up on adrenaline he could barely think he might have realized Carlisle was doing something magical. But he doesn't. To Pratt the man is simply standing there about to be decimated by a demon with a sword that decays things.

Using the very last of his reserves of energy he runs towards him. Not to the safety he doesn't know is imminent, but to get Carlisle to run away. Get out of here and not be killed.

Carlisle's eyes dart to the demon as she addresses him, then to Pratt still picking himself off the ground, then back to said demon just in time to see her lob something dark and evil and no doubt painful at him. He reacts instinctively, bringing his hands before him, focusing energy into them to manifest tangible orbs of pure light -- her own spell connects and overloads them immediately, causing them to shatter violently against his palms.

The force pushes him back only an inch or two, but he recoils with an agonized groan regardless: though the shards of his conjured orbs dissipate as they hit the ground, they were solid enough for an instant to leave lacerations on his hands, ones which heal up a moment later without conscious effort. He should be reserving his energy for his barrier, but it's difficult these days for him to reign in his energies, forcing him to actively work at not healing himself. It's caused him problems in the past, but now, much like then, he doesn't have time to focus on it as Pratt barrels toward him.

He leans back toward the contact point and the moment Pratt is within the glyph, he slams his hands upon it, his eyes practically aflame with energy as he channels forcefully into the lines, pouring as much as is necessary to make the barrier withstand an onslaught. It should be solid enough on the outside -- and unlike his garden barriers, solid on the inside too, which he hopes Pratt and his momentum don't find out the hard way.

The barrier flares to life mere seconds before Caedra's sword collides with it. Not expecting to hit such a solid surface, she was moving at full speed and as the tip of her rapier skates across the barrier she slams bodily into it, unable to stop her own momentum. She moves with the blow, redirects the force into a roll and ends up on her feet, and though her sword might not be able to go through that wall, her glare sure can.

"You're a very lucky couple of men, you know," she growls. "I've fought wizards before who thought they could keep a shield like that up for far longer than they were truly able. How long will you last?"

And how solid is this wall? It doesn't look quite like the circles she knows, now that she sees that glyph up close. Some other kind of magic. Time to test it. She draws back her sword, whipping it up over her head, then slams the blade flat onto the barrier in a smite, as spectral wings unfurl at her back and cloak her in darkness that races through the blade. It flares out across the barrier, sending shadows licking at its invisible surface, but nothing gets through.

Pratt crashes into the other side of the barrier with a yelp, thudding off and falling to the ground cradling his wrist. He'd been trying to stop and turn towards Carlisle as he ran, but the wall had formed up in front of him before he had a chance to redirect his motion.

"What ...What?" His terrified brain isn't processing any of this. All he knows is Caedra is right behind them and, "Jesus Christ!"

Suddenly she's encased in darkness and horrible wings and that sword is coming right for them and they need to get away RIGHT NOW.

"We need to get out of here. We need to go, we need to go." He sounds like a panicked animal, his voice a caricature of normal. Where is safe? What is the thing Carlisle just did and will it hold her? For how long?

There's nothing but questions and Pratt isn't thinking logically enough to form answers, reaching out for Carlisle to try and drag him away and towards the buildings and potential safety.

Caedra's attempts to break the barrier are met with deflection, though Carlisle grinds his teeth as she tries again and again, his eyes burning brighter as he draws from the energies of the Mote, pouring them into the glyph to bolster it. It remains sturdy around them as Pratt rambles, but Carlisle keeps as much of his focus on the demon before him than on his friend.

"Don't call me that," he murmurs to her, his voice soft, his hesitation laced with fear. His tone is far sharper as Pratt touches his shoulder, and he yanks himself away, keeping his hands on the glyph. "Don't touch me! I- don't touch me, and don't call me that, and- and you leave!"

He has no right to order a demon around like that; he has hardly the gumption to do so, but as he slowly realizes the enemy he has made in this moment, he has no choice but to attempt a brave face, if for no other reason than to maintain his energies for their only line of defense.

Caedra | OTA | CW: there will be violence and gore and murder I promise

Early in the Event sometime

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