#➵ 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃. ┊❝ maybe we will wake up singing. ❞

[asphuxia]

/ * MAYBE WE WILL WAKE UP SINGING. — guard mini 1

team guard minigame 1, group b.

They do not enter the dream. The dream bleeds into reality, and itself intends to draw blood.

At the first cry, moonlight tears into Eir’s rest, knife-bright and immediate— within moments, her companions rise and gather. Despite the hour well into the night, their war-trained minds are equipped to respond; each pushes aside their bleariness, taking up arms. Soon enough, they are split off into patrols of three, lined up against Rusalka’s fortress walls. What lurks within the night beyond, advancing steadily in assault, waits not for them. The night arrives despite the day's protest.

All around them, wood splinters and cracks, crumbling surely beneath siege. Ahead, and out of reach, death’s heir makes out the figure of a shadow, rising in motion— followed by a thick thud. Once more, the shadow throws itself against the fortress. Without reprieve, it repeats itself again; this time, the oak gives way. Ruined stakes form as the wall parts, fractals of the material within merely a marker of its forged path. At the very sight, Eir grimaces. This would be no simple enemy to face.

Before she can urge her patrol to move, the sight of another enemy halts her in her tracks. The void looms, white peering over the wall. Its hollow eyes meets the Helian’s, though she does not understand what she gazes upon. Then, as the other had done before, the shadow strikes the fortress with uniform strength. The collision resounds, reverberating; the wall will endure little longer. Gathering her courage, Eir summons her blade, and lets the light cut its path in a sharp arc.

Eir attacks Miasmic Slime (15, 7) from (15, 8). 1d20 roll: 1. Miss! ( -0HP. )

Miasmic Slime’s HP: 3/3.

Miasmic Slime counterattacks. Flat damage. ( -1HP. )

Eir’s HP: 9/10.

The shadows part, and Lyfja is nearly dull— a lustre lost that Eir has never before quite witnessed. In turn, the slime-like creature retaliates; miasmic pseudopodia extend over the wall, slamming into the Ymiran in a strike she cannot avoid. Staggering, the princess finds her footing, biting back a grunt. Very rarely had she fought enemies such as these, those that seemed neither part of this world nor the next. The memory of the Dokkálfar rise to the forefront of her mind, nearly— but Eir knows it is not the fairies who are at hand.

Swiftly, Eir regains her balance, taking care to place some distance from her enemy’s immediate range. A frown curls her lips, and Eir is left squinting into the darkness. As though to rise in claim, two glowing eyes stare, then blink in her direction. The shadow raises itself, preparing to ran against the wall once more. This time, Eir does not hesitate to let Lyfja put an end to the nightmare— and now, with precision unmistakable.

Eir attacks Miasmic Slime (15, 7) from (15, 8). 1d20 roll: 15. Hit! ( -3.5HP. )

Miasmic Slime’s HP: 0/3.

Miasmic Slime (15, 7) has been defeated !

Miasmic Slime drops 3 Red Dream Crystals !

As it fades away into nothing, they remind her of Hel’s denizens; the ranks of warriors once sent by her mother in ceaseless conquest. Unlike the dead, however, they leave something behind; material, Eir leans down to inspect the crystals left in her enemy’s wake. A cursory gaze towards the battlefield prevents her from looking any further.

Despite the slow decimation of the enemies’ numbers, yet more arrive to take its place. Where one shadow dissipated, two others would form; if caution lay abandoned, they would find themselves quickly overrun. Eir glances towards her two companions, one beyond the wall itself; she nods, curt, before moving to speak.

Swallowing, the Ymiran nurses Lyfja’s toll with practiced impassivity, letting no hurt carve a crack upon her visage.

Eir takes recoil damage from activating Lyfjaberg’s bonus. (-2HP).

Eir’s HP: 7/10.

“They are unrelenting… like spectres. This battle will not end until dawn breaks.” The gravity of her inference is drawn upon her face; their battle to light’s arrival would not be weathered with ease. Despite its dues, Eir’s grip upon Lyfjaberg’s handle merely tightens. “We must defend the walls, and what remains of them. The housing of our companions must not be breached.”

@lockpicnic & @fabledoath !