Re: Intense Struggle! (Round 4 - Old Salem)
10-22-2010, 02:02 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by SleepingOrange.
As the nun shouldered her way through the fleeing crowd, the scene in front of her gradually became visible; in front of the house that had so recently been the center of attention, there was the huddled, slightly-smoking corpse of some villager, over which was standing a thing, red-haired girl. Standing wasn't really the right word; she was actually hovering several inches above the ground, her bright hair flowing away from her head in a nonexistent wind. It was actually very reminiscent of Aph, and Clara briefly wondered whether this person was one of the real witches the Monitor had mentioned or one of her contestants; the thought was chased out of her head as unimportant, though, as she watched the woman take a potshot at one of the many fleeing villagers. Whoever she was, she had to be stopped.
The lightning bolt the witch had hurled careered at her target; it struck the man in the back, and he collapsed into a twitching heap with a piteous "Ulgh". Despite not being much of a fighter, and even less so without the aid of her magic, Clara knew that saving these people was just as important as saving the contestants; as long as she could still act, no more people would die for the entertainment of some cruel overbeing. She steeled herself and moved towards the girl, grabbing her cane from her belt and hoping it looked like George had taken the hammer from his apron. Without any kind of powers, she would have to take every advantage she could get, including surprise; she was somewhat ashamed that she was thankful the witch's last spell had turned her back towards Clara. The old woman raised the stick and swung towards her target's head; the girl apparently heard the attack coming at the last moment, and turned to raise her arm in defense.
Arm or not, it was still a powerful blow with considerable momentum and necromantic strength behind it. Accompanying the slam of doors and shutters as most of the crowd disappeared into their homes was a loud crack as the cane met flesh; the witch was slammed into the wall of her house, where she slid to the floor. After a moment, she shook herself and snarled before pouncing on her assailant; Clara barely had the agility or presence of mind to dodge, and was grazed by an electrically-charged claw as the girl passed. Pain lanced up her arm and her face set into a stony grimace as she turned to face the witch.
Clara adopted a defensive stance and began slowly circling, the shaft of her cane in both hands; the girl, for her part, followed Clara's movements, and began forming some sort of sphere of electricity in her hands. The two stayed locked in this dance for some time, the few remaining terrified onlookers watching silently, until Clara feinted as though to attack. The witch took the bait and launched her spell, allowing the nun to easily dodge and press in under her lowered defenses; the can was slammed lengthwise into her chest and shoved upwards, zombie-strength and reinforced wood colliding with unprotected ribs, and the redheaded menace was sent sprawling for the second time in less than that many minutes. She glared at Clara, face a rictus of fury, and screamed "Enough!"
She leapt with surprising agility back to her feet; rather than simply hovering slightly above the ground, however, she continued rising until she was some twenty feet off the ground. Sneering down at what she doubtless saw as some insignificant and insolent blacksmith, the witch spat "I'm going to make you beg for death." Clara could do little but watch as her opponent floated well above her, muttering and gesturing, obviously casting some kind of spell. With one final, emphatic word, the girl reached out in front of herself, acting as though she was grabbing something invisible; there was a flash of light from inside her fist, and what appeared to be a long bullwhip made of electricity formed. Laughing, she swooped down towards her hapless target to a small chorus of gasps from the remaining onlookers. Clara was able to stumble aside from the reckless charge, but only managed to avoid being struck by the glowing lash by sending herself splaying on the ground. Another strike forced her to roll over; several more followed, each dodgeable but all forcing her to stay on the ground. Finally, some villager's voice rang out "George, you're no witchhunter, get out of there!" There was a brief pause, followed by a deep, confident voice answering with "No, but I am."
Arm raised to deal a blow straight to Clara's face, the witch pivoted in midair to see the audacious speaker. Down the street a ways, standing dramatically with his back to the sunlight, was a tall man in a plain, black robe, a wide-brimmed black hat, and a small golden pendant that was impossible to make out at this distance. "Madeline, I am appalled. Have the Devil's vile promises dimmed in you the light of God's love? How could you turn away from His teachings; are these fleeting powers truly worth your immortal soul? And what of your mo-" The speaker was interrupted by a furious growl from the witch coupled by a swing of the whip; though he was much too far away to be struck by the lash itself, at the arc of the swing it loosed a small bolt of electricity straight towards the man's chest. He made no move to dodge, and simply raised his hand to whatever amulet he was wearing. The lightning jerked off at a right angle as it approached and grounded itself harmlessly in the dirt. "His light shines through me."
After that simple phrase, the man began chanting in a language Clara didn't understand; she caught words like "spiritu" and "tutela", but failed to glean any kind of message or purpose from them. She struggled to her feet as Madeline began sailing towards the newcomer, whip raised and teeth bared, and broke into a run despite knowing there was no way she could catch up before the witch reached him. Madeline moved ever closer, but the black-clad figure simply stood serenely, chanting; there was a moment where it looked like he would be struck, which stretched out in slow motion, the witch whipping the scourge towards his face. Before it could land, though, the moment simply... Stopped.
Everything around Clara took on a soft, golden glow; there was no sound and no movement, just an odd sensation of stillness in the pit of her gut. She had to force her foot to land, even though she was already midstep; every motion was like pushing through treacle. The chanting man neatly sidestepped, carefully avoiding touching Madeline or her whip, and shot Clara a glance.
"She's not one of ours, and you're not what you seem either. What's going on here?"
As the nun shouldered her way through the fleeing crowd, the scene in front of her gradually became visible; in front of the house that had so recently been the center of attention, there was the huddled, slightly-smoking corpse of some villager, over which was standing a thing, red-haired girl. Standing wasn't really the right word; she was actually hovering several inches above the ground, her bright hair flowing away from her head in a nonexistent wind. It was actually very reminiscent of Aph, and Clara briefly wondered whether this person was one of the real witches the Monitor had mentioned or one of her contestants; the thought was chased out of her head as unimportant, though, as she watched the woman take a potshot at one of the many fleeing villagers. Whoever she was, she had to be stopped.
The lightning bolt the witch had hurled careered at her target; it struck the man in the back, and he collapsed into a twitching heap with a piteous "Ulgh". Despite not being much of a fighter, and even less so without the aid of her magic, Clara knew that saving these people was just as important as saving the contestants; as long as she could still act, no more people would die for the entertainment of some cruel overbeing. She steeled herself and moved towards the girl, grabbing her cane from her belt and hoping it looked like George had taken the hammer from his apron. Without any kind of powers, she would have to take every advantage she could get, including surprise; she was somewhat ashamed that she was thankful the witch's last spell had turned her back towards Clara. The old woman raised the stick and swung towards her target's head; the girl apparently heard the attack coming at the last moment, and turned to raise her arm in defense.
Arm or not, it was still a powerful blow with considerable momentum and necromantic strength behind it. Accompanying the slam of doors and shutters as most of the crowd disappeared into their homes was a loud crack as the cane met flesh; the witch was slammed into the wall of her house, where she slid to the floor. After a moment, she shook herself and snarled before pouncing on her assailant; Clara barely had the agility or presence of mind to dodge, and was grazed by an electrically-charged claw as the girl passed. Pain lanced up her arm and her face set into a stony grimace as she turned to face the witch.
Clara adopted a defensive stance and began slowly circling, the shaft of her cane in both hands; the girl, for her part, followed Clara's movements, and began forming some sort of sphere of electricity in her hands. The two stayed locked in this dance for some time, the few remaining terrified onlookers watching silently, until Clara feinted as though to attack. The witch took the bait and launched her spell, allowing the nun to easily dodge and press in under her lowered defenses; the can was slammed lengthwise into her chest and shoved upwards, zombie-strength and reinforced wood colliding with unprotected ribs, and the redheaded menace was sent sprawling for the second time in less than that many minutes. She glared at Clara, face a rictus of fury, and screamed "Enough!"
She leapt with surprising agility back to her feet; rather than simply hovering slightly above the ground, however, she continued rising until she was some twenty feet off the ground. Sneering down at what she doubtless saw as some insignificant and insolent blacksmith, the witch spat "I'm going to make you beg for death." Clara could do little but watch as her opponent floated well above her, muttering and gesturing, obviously casting some kind of spell. With one final, emphatic word, the girl reached out in front of herself, acting as though she was grabbing something invisible; there was a flash of light from inside her fist, and what appeared to be a long bullwhip made of electricity formed. Laughing, she swooped down towards her hapless target to a small chorus of gasps from the remaining onlookers. Clara was able to stumble aside from the reckless charge, but only managed to avoid being struck by the glowing lash by sending herself splaying on the ground. Another strike forced her to roll over; several more followed, each dodgeable but all forcing her to stay on the ground. Finally, some villager's voice rang out "George, you're no witchhunter, get out of there!" There was a brief pause, followed by a deep, confident voice answering with "No, but I am."
Arm raised to deal a blow straight to Clara's face, the witch pivoted in midair to see the audacious speaker. Down the street a ways, standing dramatically with his back to the sunlight, was a tall man in a plain, black robe, a wide-brimmed black hat, and a small golden pendant that was impossible to make out at this distance. "Madeline, I am appalled. Have the Devil's vile promises dimmed in you the light of God's love? How could you turn away from His teachings; are these fleeting powers truly worth your immortal soul? And what of your mo-" The speaker was interrupted by a furious growl from the witch coupled by a swing of the whip; though he was much too far away to be struck by the lash itself, at the arc of the swing it loosed a small bolt of electricity straight towards the man's chest. He made no move to dodge, and simply raised his hand to whatever amulet he was wearing. The lightning jerked off at a right angle as it approached and grounded itself harmlessly in the dirt. "His light shines through me."
After that simple phrase, the man began chanting in a language Clara didn't understand; she caught words like "spiritu" and "tutela", but failed to glean any kind of message or purpose from them. She struggled to her feet as Madeline began sailing towards the newcomer, whip raised and teeth bared, and broke into a run despite knowing there was no way she could catch up before the witch reached him. Madeline moved ever closer, but the black-clad figure simply stood serenely, chanting; there was a moment where it looked like he would be struck, which stretched out in slow motion, the witch whipping the scourge towards his face. Before it could land, though, the moment simply... Stopped.
Everything around Clara took on a soft, golden glow; there was no sound and no movement, just an odd sensation of stillness in the pit of her gut. She had to force her foot to land, even though she was already midstep; every motion was like pushing through treacle. The chanting man neatly sidestepped, carefully avoiding touching Madeline or her whip, and shot Clara a glance.
"She's not one of ours, and you're not what you seem either. What's going on here?"