Smoke to Thunder - a truth a bit to the left

After their own demise- after Alissa’s… Alder had become a bit more jumpy- more careful with their position in battle. They couldn’t afford another mishap. Another faulty positioning in the midst of combat where their friends couldn’t reach them. They’d already gone through so much for them… And Alissa-

They couldn’t think about that now- A now-too-familiar swoosh of an arrow passing just inches by them woke Alder from their foggy slumber. A breath- an exhale- a glance up at the assailant.

‘Focus!’

— — —

The now-common dance of daggers and blades, fire and magic had made them a slight bit jumpier than before. Steady, concentrated spells had become conjurings of microseconds’ decisions amidst the chaos. (He needs to stay up– Help her! No- run!) The fuelling nature of their smoke, of the dreams they had siphoned from their traveling companions for a good week-and-a-half now, had become mere wisps of energy in their form. The lack of bitter grass had made them drowsy- their vision more blurry and a weight upon their body like water pressure, all-enveloping and dragging.

They could feel the strain already…

— — —

A glance at Caine from across the battle- his form low to the ground, blades spread to his sides, glinting silver and red in the late hours of the evening. -His growls emanated more and more bestial as the battle wrought on - something unchained… Something… primal. Even with the crisscross strokes of blood-red along his skin, he kept his icy eyes on the enemy. Focused and clear. Even though clouded, Alder could keep track of his eye movements, searching the enemy for slip-ups… like stalking- but in full motion - his feet never stopping, his knuckles brushing against the dirt, leaving ever-slight wisps of moved earth as a sign of his split-second fury.

Alder envied this… determination? Truly. Even with the difficulties they’d had with the trial of Bishavon, Alder still held a great deal of respect for the human - though he’d give them a look if they’d call him that.

With a slight idea of a smile on their mind - they felt the shove of something against their form (the omen of the assailants coming lost to the clashing of blades further away). Alder’s perspective shifted up - the starry sky staring back at them with dispassion - as the someone tackled them to the ground, blade at the scarf at their throat. Metal against stone- a grating sound. A drop of something warm - staining.

Alder’s face snapped up to the rogue above them, her teeth clenched in determination and a piercing, frightful glare in her eyes.

They both knew what was going to happen next. A semblance of a shout echoed out as the blade cut. Blood-like ichor staining the fabric of Alder’s scarf and the assailant’s blade- (darker than red) The woman didn’t smile- didn’t smirk. No sense of pride filled her actions. What Alder could gleam from her eyes in this moment of struggle— was only desperation and fury. (It’s either you or me) Alder struggled under her grip- the rogue pinning them down by their wrists- her knee on their abdomen. A sneer found her face just as Alder managed to wrench out an arm from her grasp- and grasp the side of her face;

Her sneer faded- eyes rolled back by only a fraction as her face slackened- …eyes staring wide to the heavens.

— — —

A fraction of a moment later, Alder had kicked the rogue off of themself - scampering back away from the now wheeze-coughing form of the woman. Grasping at their throat as if aching, the rogue’s eyes shot up at Alder again… seething (that expression they knew-)

No matter how far Alder would’ve managed to crawl- the rogue raced towards them with break-neck speed, grasping at their robes, their legs- to get a hold of something. (Another split-second decision) Alder thought of sleep- Inhaled the smoke from their pipe- and a whirl of gray-purple surrounded the duo.

Smoke enveloping Alder’s vision- a sound of a body hitting the ground— (behind them- that’s not right- fuck what-) In an instant, a dagger shot out from the smoke, drawing a gash along the cheek of their mask and ripping the hood-fabric beyond. With wide eyes, Alder noted the now-advancing figure of their previous assailant still on her feet in front of them- stern focus clear between her brows… and the noise of people confused, clamoring behind them…

Though panicked, Alder could recognise the sound of swords being drawn- (two– three of them…)

Alder could only manage a glance around them; three more humans surrounded them with swords drawn- Caine faded into the background, facing off and annihilating half-a-dozen more men in a faceoff for bragging rights.

Their breath quickened, coming now in short pants with the struggle against the rogue still heavy (grip like rope, still stuck to their wrists- twisting and grating like a hangman’s knot). Their vision glanced for any beat of weakness, of any chance of escape, focusing first on the rogue, then the bandits at their tail… (No, no, shit-) Sight blurring, vision stuck in the mostly-there fog in their head Alder could barely hold on to the thought of the single adversary at their front; the rogue now pacing towards them, head held high in accomplishments-yet-to-come.

A breath, a glance, a breath, a stagger to back away- anywhere.

— — —

The pipe weighed in their grasp, a memory of the incantations- the chance to act. To bend smoke and sleep, fire and flames to their will. To do something other than to scramble on the ground, barely able to stay conscious- Aware.

A swell of smoke around them.

(Concentrated, the smoke could keep them hidden.) ‘No.’ A single thought amidst the swelling sight and vision.

The smoke swelled in fury.

— — —

The smoke swam and swelled, ebbed and wove like the tide amidst the feet of the attackers. Grasping at the bootstraps and heels, edges of clothing and weapons like delicate hands of someone examining fine jewels. A tug here, a glance against steel. A swipe against fabric, a sharp nick against skin.

…before starting to form strands.

-Strands of concentrated smoke, of the arcane energy of dreams. Of dreams, and just barely-bent reality. The smoke swelled, yet compressed- Weaving intricate spider-web-lines between the crowd, catching, ever-more-present, on the forms of the people.

Alder’s mind sunk away- Somewhere where they can’t go awake, nor asleep. A place in which they aren’t here.

A sharp tug here, an ebb and weave there- the bandits swiped uselessly at the smoke gathered among them, now lapping at their waists with a weight it simply couldn’t possess. Alder’s body lay uselessly in the midst of the smog, (no eyes to perceive, no lungs to breathe) their head cocked to the side with its ever-lifeless demeanor.

The smoke sparked.

A flash lit up the underside of the bandits' faces, glinting off their blades with a yellow-white light. Eyes wide, the third spark made two stagger back- a nervous sneer and a barely audible gasp.

A footfall back. Another.

The wisps flashed white hot.

— — —

Electricity tore through the air-

The smell of ozone filled the area as the jolts of now white-hot electric smog grabbed at the bandits’ legs with fervor truly known to only nature itself. The electric smoke grabbed at whatever was there for it; beneath the armor, the leather, the fabric. It coursed through them like divine wrath, rending the muscle tissue, tethering the assailants to the ground with jolts of energy alone, as they were all raised above the dirt and gravel in scream-deafened silence.

A flash of white-hot electricity-

The roar of air colliding like thunder.

And Alder was gone. Safe.