Patrollogs
(A battle in the Nightmare)
[Wed Oct 16 2024]
In The Forest
It is morning, about 48F(8C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey clouds in the sky. Ankle high mist flows through the area.
Korina stretches out her back, arms lifted high above her head and a satisfied noise leaving her throat before she goes to bump against Nikolai affectionately in the nightmare-space.
There's an immediate shift as Nikolai's eyes glint with recognition, and the nightmare seethes and swirls to embroil him and his apparent prey on the spot. "I know who you are," he calls, accusing - as if the woman's identity had been something withheld when it should have been immediately presented to the man. "No wonder you try to set up shop so close to the Other gate. What is plan - cut off source of magic? You would not be first Templar to try."
When Korina arrives beside him, he offers her a warm nod, bumping his shoulder against hers before he murmurs, "Temple woman I found near your territory. We will teach lesson."
Ah, well -- there goes Irene's wounded gazelle act. The lost, confused lamb had been doing her utmost to appear nonthreatening, in her fuzzy maroon sweater, but now the Dream betrays her. Whether she appears threatening to Nikolai now is another matter -- after all, in all likelihood she is still only human, being what she is. But she no longer presents as a civilian in the Nightmare, in her bulletproof vest and with a rifle in her hands.
It must be said that for however long it lasted, she is good at playing the ingenue, with her wide dark eyes, and the bruising on her face that was certainly genuine, a poor battered woman. But she drops the act now when she raises her gun to aim at the stranger. Though he claims to know who she is, still, there are no sun symbols marking her clothing. She doesn't respond to his accusations, but in the Nightmare which reveals her true intentions, she does move to attack.
There's an immediate shift as Nikolai's eyes glint with recognition, and the nightmare seethes and swirls to embroil him and his apparent prey on the spot. "I know who you are," he calls, accusing - as if the woman's identity had been something withheld when it should have been immediately presented to the man. "No wonder you try to set up shop so close to the Other gate. What is plan - cut off source of magic? You would not be first Templar to try."
When someone arrives beside him, he offers her a warm nod, bumping his shoulder against hers before he murmurs, "Temple woman I found near your territory. We will teach lesson."
The moment he sights Irene, he launches himself through the air with inhuman power, aided by the fluttering of little wings by his ankles which had not been there only a moment before. There's a great big fuck-off hammer in his hands, too, and as he swipes it through the air towards his prey, its head flares red-hot before erupting with a gout of flame that licks the earth beneath her feet.
There's an immediate shift as Nikolai's eyes glint with recognition, and the nightmare seethes and swirls to embroil him and his apparent prey on the spot. "I know who you are," he calls, accusing - as if the woman's identity had been something withheld when it should have been immediately presented to the man. "No wonder you try to set up shop so close to the Other gate. What is plan - cut off source of magic? You would not be first Templar to try."
When Korina arrives beside him, he offers her a warm nod, bumping his shoulder against hers before he murmurs, "Temple woman I found near your territory. We will teach lesson."
The moment he sights Irene, he launches himself through the air with inhuman power, aided by the fluttering of little wings by his ankles which had not been there only a moment before. There's a great big fuck-off hammer in his hands, too, and as he swipes it through the air towards his prey, its head flares red-hot before erupting with a gout of flame that licks the earth beneath her feet.
No fuck-off hammer in Irene's hands. No superhuman feats of athleticism for her. By human standards, she's in decent shape, but the Gate-town doesn't play by human standards. She aims her gun up as he launches himself through the air, narrowing her eyes behind her shooting glasses before firing her shot. When it misses, she lets out a quiet curse under her breath, and raises a much smaller gun to close the distance. The dart at least finds its mark on the one part of his skin that's exposed, his hand, and may slow him down a little bit.
It definitely has an effect. It doesn't quite knock Nikolai out: his eyes glow with divine fire, and they do not so much as drift with as the drugs hit his system. Still, he grunts with the sudden difficulty in dragging himself closer, and the sluggishness in his muscles as he lifts his weapon.
"I am Nikolai Kuznetsov," the demigod announces, bringing his hammer up to bear once again. "I am your worst enemy."
A bolt of flame erupts from the weapon, but his aim's imperfect, drifting under the influence of the tranquiliser - it flies right over Irene's shoulder, evaporating not far behind her.
Irene seems not to be much of a talker. And, by supernatural standards, she seems not to be much of a fighter, either. Oh, she tries, but a bullet isn't going to slay a demigod. Maybe if looks could kill she'd have better luck. "I am Irene," she introduces herself much more succinctly, with a subtle Hispanic accent. The feminine sound of her voice doesn't match her unflattering, masculinising ensemble in the Nightmare, which would otherwise render her appearance to be little more than another faceless soldier in this war. "You're right, Slava Ukraini."
The fiery assault certainly shatters her cool, causing her to duck and dive for some cover within the featureless void. Although she manages to escape being burned alive in that moment, it's not without cost of opportunity, and when she returns (lead) fire, her own shots still go wide.
A mixture of amusement and delight flits across Nikolai's features, and he hops sprightly over the scattering of bullets, lashing the earth beneath someone' feet with tongues of forge-fire in turn.
"Good spirit," he calls, jubilant in the heat of things. He must be one of those jolly warrior types. "But your words do not offend me, Templar! So long as the Slavs sit the land, I am unbothered." He dances closer, surprisingly agile for a man quite so bulky, until he's almost in arm's reach.
"It is /what you are/ that offends me. You should have stayed gone after the war."
A mixture of amusement and delight flits across Nikolai's features, and he hops sprightly over the scattering of bullets, lashing the earth beneath Irene's feet with tongues of forge-fire in turn.
"Good spirit," he calls, jubilant in the heat of things. He must be one of those jolly warrior types. "But your words do not offend me, Templar! So long as the Slavs sit the land, I am unbothered." He dances closer, surprisingly agile for a man quite so bulky, until he's almost in arm's reach.
"It is /what you are/ that offends me. You should have stayed gone after the war."
And so their long-distance dance draws closer. It's Irene, perhaps realising the futility of trying to escape much further, who tightens up the final gap. The butt-end of her rifle swings with the arc of a makeshift fuck-off hammer, albeit much less effective. In fact, the gesture serves only to distract, before she twists even closer, close enough to stab his hand with her knife. Her aim might've been to disarm him with that move, and although she doesn't succeed, the blade at least cuts his skin -- one drop of blood as payment for this Nightmare assault.
They're a hair's width away now, though all of hers stays hidden under her cap. At this dancing distance, she locks eyes with her self-declared worst enemy through her shooting glasses, accompanying the work of her blade with a cutting look of contempt. She might not match his divine battle-joy, but there's battle-readiness, at least. And does anyone who doesn't secretly love the fight join the fray with so little hesitation as she has? "I'm honoured you're so afraid of little old me," she tells him. An absurd statement probably meant to try and get under his skin, since no reasonable person would think it's true.
Oh, just barely - Nikolai's skin's ridiculously tough, even against a blade's edge. He's no average demigod, certainly, and he only swells with enthusiasm with Irene's venom and contempt.
"Honoured is correct!" he booms, his volume unchecked by all the tedious rules of the civil indoors. His hammer drops down to the foresty earth, where sand and dirt sizzle and pop against the heat left in the metal - and in an instant, he swings the thing up to slam into her vest, hard enough that she can feel her ribs creaking through her back teeth.
Oh, fuck-off hammer is right. It makes Irene fuck right off. There's an audible 'oomph' as she's staggered back, and then she crumbles to the ground. But instincts kick in, and looking up at him as she catches her breath, she twists about, using her blade to strike at his achilles heel from her lower position. Her little pinpricks probably don't hurt much, especially to anyone accustomed to fighting literal monsters; she's a fly. But the targeted strike is enough to drop him to the dark ground alongside her, giving her lighter form just enough time to roll a few steps off to safety. She finds her footing a fraction of a minute faster, straightening up to gasp for air. The human already looks haggard from the melee, but doesn't give up.
"Blyat!"
It's all Nikolai gets out as his ankle gives out from underneath him, and he stumbles down onto his ass. You can't pack muscle around the back of your foot, and neither toughened skin nor toughened bones can protect a spot like that very much. He growls under his breath as he clambers up from his hands and knees, and thumps his hammer into the ground with some frustration. It flares right back to life, scattering embers over Irene and singeing her skin - and as he scowls, a metallic sheen begins to slowly overtake his form, until he appears to have been wholly wrought from solid steel.
His Achilles' tendon is probably a little more defended, now.
Maybe Irene just doesn't know the rules of the game yet; seeing his skin harden into steel doesn't stall her, and with everything she's got, she races back towards him once more to close the gap anew. The pesky little human-fly launches herself at the demigod's back, going straight for his neck, which she tries with futility to stab at repeatedly. She has viciousness in her, even if she lacks the mettle; and it's his metal that ends up fending her off, sparks of his fiery hammer singeing her clothes and illuminating her coal-eyed gaze beneath her protective glasses.
Nikolai bares his teeth in a metallic, too-bright smirk, opening his guard up as the fearless Templar faces him down, armoured-up and beyond the hope of a human victory. He blocks some of her knife-swipes with the flat of his hammer, and lets others spark off his divinely-fortified skin - and then his empty hand flashes out, snatching and grasping and ultimately out-wrestling Irene until he's lifting her up by her lovely French braid, up and up until she's close enough to spit in his face.
Which, of course, she might like to do - if his face weren't already whistling towards her own, until his iron-hard forehead meets the tip of her nose, and -
Irene fades out of the nightmare.
A Battle In The Nightmare 241017
(A battle in the Nightmare)
[Wed Oct 16 2024]
In The Forest
It is morning, about 48F(8C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey clouds in the sky. Ankle high mist flows through the area.
Korina stretches out her back, arms lifted high above her head and a satisfied noise leaving her throat before she goes to bump against Nikolai affectionately in the nightmare-space.
There's an immediate shift as Nikolai's eyes glint with recognition, and the nightmare seethes and swirls to embroil him and his apparent prey on the spot. "I know who you are," he calls, accusing - as if the woman's identity had been something withheld when it should have been immediately presented to the man. "No wonder you try to set up shop so close to the Other gate. What is plan - cut off source of magic? You would not be first Templar to try."
When Korina arrives beside him, he offers her a warm nod, bumping his shoulder against hers before he murmurs, "Temple woman I found near your territory. We will teach lesson."
Ah, well -- there goes Irene's wounded gazelle act. The lost, confused lamb had been doing her utmost to appear nonthreatening, in her fuzzy maroon sweater, but now the Dream betrays her. Whether she appears threatening to Nikolai now is another matter -- after all, in all likelihood she is still only human, being what she is. But she no longer presents as a civilian in the Nightmare, in her bulletproof vest and with a rifle in her hands.
It must be said that for however long it lasted, she is good at playing the ingenue, with her wide dark eyes, and the bruising on her face that was certainly genuine, a poor battered woman. But she drops the act now when she raises her gun to aim at the stranger. Though he claims to know who she is, still, there are no sun symbols marking her clothing. She doesn't respond to his accusations, but in the Nightmare which reveals her true intentions, she does move to attack.
There's an immediate shift as Nikolai's eyes glint with recognition, and the nightmare seethes and swirls to embroil him and his apparent prey on the spot. "I know who you are," he calls, accusing - as if the woman's identity had been something withheld when it should have been immediately presented to the man. "No wonder you try to set up shop so close to the Other gate. What is plan - cut off source of magic? You would not be first Templar to try."
When someone arrives beside him, he offers her a warm nod, bumping his shoulder against hers before he murmurs, "Temple woman I found near your territory. We will teach lesson."
The moment he sights Irene, he launches himself through the air with inhuman power, aided by the fluttering of little wings by his ankles which had not been there only a moment before. There's a great big fuck-off hammer in his hands, too, and as he swipes it through the air towards his prey, its head flares red-hot before erupting with a gout of flame that licks the earth beneath her feet.
There's an immediate shift as Nikolai's eyes glint with recognition, and the nightmare seethes and swirls to embroil him and his apparent prey on the spot. "I know who you are," he calls, accusing - as if the woman's identity had been something withheld when it should have been immediately presented to the man. "No wonder you try to set up shop so close to the Other gate. What is plan - cut off source of magic? You would not be first Templar to try."
When Korina arrives beside him, he offers her a warm nod, bumping his shoulder against hers before he murmurs, "Temple woman I found near your territory. We will teach lesson."
The moment he sights Irene, he launches himself through the air with inhuman power, aided by the fluttering of little wings by his ankles which had not been there only a moment before. There's a great big fuck-off hammer in his hands, too, and as he swipes it through the air towards his prey, its head flares red-hot before erupting with a gout of flame that licks the earth beneath her feet.
No fuck-off hammer in Irene's hands. No superhuman feats of athleticism for her. By human standards, she's in decent shape, but the Gate-town doesn't play by human standards. She aims her gun up as he launches himself through the air, narrowing her eyes behind her shooting glasses before firing her shot. When it misses, she lets out a quiet curse under her breath, and raises a much smaller gun to close the distance. The dart at least finds its mark on the one part of his skin that's exposed, his hand, and may slow him down a little bit.
It definitely has an effect. It doesn't quite knock Nikolai out: his eyes glow with divine fire, and they do not so much as drift with as the drugs hit his system. Still, he grunts with the sudden difficulty in dragging himself closer, and the sluggishness in his muscles as he lifts his weapon.
"I am Nikolai Kuznetsov," the demigod announces, bringing his hammer up to bear once again. "I am your worst enemy."
A bolt of flame erupts from the weapon, but his aim's imperfect, drifting under the influence of the tranquiliser - it flies right over Irene's shoulder, evaporating not far behind her.
Irene seems not to be much of a talker. And, by supernatural standards, she seems not to be much of a fighter, either. Oh, she tries, but a bullet isn't going to slay a demigod. Maybe if looks could kill she'd have better luck. "I am Irene," she introduces herself much more succinctly, with a subtle Hispanic accent. The feminine sound of her voice doesn't match her unflattering, masculinising ensemble in the Nightmare, which would otherwise render her appearance to be little more than another faceless soldier in this war. "You're right, Slava Ukraini."
The fiery assault certainly shatters her cool, causing her to duck and dive for some cover within the featureless void. Although she manages to escape being burned alive in that moment, it's not without cost of opportunity, and when she returns (lead) fire, her own shots still go wide.
A mixture of amusement and delight flits across Nikolai's features, and he hops sprightly over the scattering of bullets, lashing the earth beneath someone' feet with tongues of forge-fire in turn.
"Good spirit," he calls, jubilant in the heat of things. He must be one of those jolly warrior types. "But your words do not offend me, Templar! So long as the Slavs sit the land, I am unbothered." He dances closer, surprisingly agile for a man quite so bulky, until he's almost in arm's reach.
"It is /what you are/ that offends me. You should have stayed gone after the war."
A mixture of amusement and delight flits across Nikolai's features, and he hops sprightly over the scattering of bullets, lashing the earth beneath Irene's feet with tongues of forge-fire in turn.
"Good spirit," he calls, jubilant in the heat of things. He must be one of those jolly warrior types. "But your words do not offend me, Templar! So long as the Slavs sit the land, I am unbothered." He dances closer, surprisingly agile for a man quite so bulky, until he's almost in arm's reach.
"It is /what you are/ that offends me. You should have stayed gone after the war."
And so their long-distance dance draws closer. It's Irene, perhaps realising the futility of trying to escape much further, who tightens up the final gap. The butt-end of her rifle swings with the arc of a makeshift fuck-off hammer, albeit much less effective. In fact, the gesture serves only to distract, before she twists even closer, close enough to stab his hand with her knife. Her aim might've been to disarm him with that move, and although she doesn't succeed, the blade at least cuts his skin -- one drop of blood as payment for this Nightmare assault.
They're a hair's width away now, though all of hers stays hidden under her cap. At this dancing distance, she locks eyes with her self-declared worst enemy through her shooting glasses, accompanying the work of her blade with a cutting look of contempt. She might not match his divine battle-joy, but there's battle-readiness, at least. And does anyone who doesn't secretly love the fight join the fray with so little hesitation as she has? "I'm honoured you're so afraid of little old me," she tells him. An absurd statement probably meant to try and get under his skin, since no reasonable person would think it's true.
Oh, just barely - Nikolai's skin's ridiculously tough, even against a blade's edge. He's no average demigod, certainly, and he only swells with enthusiasm with Irene's venom and contempt.
"Honoured is correct!" he booms, his volume unchecked by all the tedious rules of the civil indoors. His hammer drops down to the foresty earth, where sand and dirt sizzle and pop against the heat left in the metal - and in an instant, he swings the thing up to slam into her vest, hard enough that she can feel her ribs creaking through her back teeth.
Oh, fuck-off hammer is right. It makes Irene fuck right off. There's an audible 'oomph' as she's staggered back, and then she crumbles to the ground. But instincts kick in, and looking up at him as she catches her breath, she twists about, using her blade to strike at his achilles heel from her lower position. Her little pinpricks probably don't hurt much, especially to anyone accustomed to fighting literal monsters; she's a fly. But the targeted strike is enough to drop him to the dark ground alongside her, giving her lighter form just enough time to roll a few steps off to safety. She finds her footing a fraction of a minute faster, straightening up to gasp for air. The human already looks haggard from the melee, but doesn't give up.
"Blyat!"
It's all Nikolai gets out as his ankle gives out from underneath him, and he stumbles down onto his ass. You can't pack muscle around the back of your foot, and neither toughened skin nor toughened bones can protect a spot like that very much. He growls under his breath as he clambers up from his hands and knees, and thumps his hammer into the ground with some frustration. It flares right back to life, scattering embers over Irene and singeing her skin - and as he scowls, a metallic sheen begins to slowly overtake his form, until he appears to have been wholly wrought from solid steel.
His Achilles' tendon is probably a little more defended, now.
Maybe Irene just doesn't know the rules of the game yet; seeing his skin harden into steel doesn't stall her, and with everything she's got, she races back towards him once more to close the gap anew. The pesky little human-fly launches herself at the demigod's back, going straight for his neck, which she tries with futility to stab at repeatedly. She has viciousness in her, even if she lacks the mettle; and it's his metal that ends up fending her off, sparks of his fiery hammer singeing her clothes and illuminating her coal-eyed gaze beneath her protective glasses.
Nikolai bares his teeth in a metallic, too-bright smirk, opening his guard up as the fearless Templar faces him down, armoured-up and beyond the hope of a human victory. He blocks some of her knife-swipes with the flat of his hammer, and lets others spark off his divinely-fortified skin - and then his empty hand flashes out, snatching and grasping and ultimately out-wrestling Irene until he's lifting her up by her lovely French braid, up and up until she's close enough to spit in his face.
Which, of course, she might like to do - if his face weren't already whistling towards her own, until his iron-hard forehead meets the tip of her nose, and -
Irene fades out of the nightmare.