Missed Carriage [Faith, Pad]

Faith goes into labor under less-than-ideal circumstances

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Missed Carriage [Faith, Pad]

Postby Faith » Sat Jan 06, 2018 9:40 am

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The side effect of that ability was that Faith did not feel the sorrow for a full trial, having given it to Cren, she was free of it. Padraig, of all the people in the world, knew how much Aeon's death had affected her. The death of a friend combined with being helpless to save him or bring him back, those things had hit her hard, but she had dealt with them as she always did ~ pragmatically, a piece at a time. Each step, she just quietly looked at the emotions she was feeling, she felt them and tried to put them in a place. It left her with a deep sadness at Aeon's death, which under normal circumstances she would have been relieved to have been rid of for a trial. However, right now she had other things on her mind.

She used the ability and the man she used it on started to cry, to sob. The sorrow her felt, her sorrow, overwhelmed him and he became unhinged. Faith watched, frozen for a moment as he descended into some sort of hallucination. It was ironic that she felt compassion for him in that moment. Having hallucinated Alexander himself over the time since she'd been kidnapped, Faith felt her heart go out to the man who she had harmed in this way, but he had brought it on himself. They were attacking a pregnant woman, threatening her and taking her to a man who wanted to turn her baby into an undead thrall so that it could eat it's way out of her. So fear and common sense won, but as the man called Cren was lost in his own internal reverie of hate and pain and self loathing, Faith watched, wide eyed as he took his own life.

Then, as she struggled to get up, one of the other men pushed the body on to her and Faith turned, twisting on to her side in order to protect her child. If the weight of the man landed on her, he might harm the baby, she knew, so she turned, sticking her elbow up. The purpose of doing that was so that she would have leverage to get him off her in a moment.If she was still on her back, he might harm Bun but might also pin her. She was strong, there was no doubting that she was stronger than she looked, but still. There was only so far that went and leverage was an issue for her.

So, she turned and she tried to give herself as much leverage as she could. As she did, as she turned she kicked, hard at the man who had pushed Cren's body on to her. Her aim was a sudden, sharp kick to the groin, figuring that she'd used a number of abilities on them and now might be a time to remind them that, actually, she could fight damn well. "THERE ARE TWO OF THEM LEFT IN HERE!!" She yelled at the top of her lungs. She didn't need to do that, she and Padraig could share telepathic communication, but that wasn't the point. They were unnerved. "THEY ARE WORKING FOR ALEXANDER!" Let them be unnerved. "ONE IS CALLED STIG." Faith yelled, knowing that Padraig could hear her, and that the two of them in here could too. She worked to get out from underneath the body of Cren, with the aim of continuing to fight as much as she could.
"To be free is not merely to cast off one's chains, but to live in a way that respects and enhances the freedom of others."

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Missed Carriage [Faith, Pad]

Postby Padraig » Tue Jan 09, 2018 10:50 am

There could have been half a dozen or more inside that carriage with Faith. The number of them would only matter so long as Padraig could finish the two on top of it first. They were the cause of him not being able to get to her just yet. It only mattered that Faith was there, and her ability to call out to him and continue putting up a fight only lit a fire under the scholar.

The dagger pulled out of the light, thanks to Qylios, had served him well and as Borely came undone, Padraig kicked his twitching body off the rolling coach and onto the streets. With any luck the whole thing had attracted the city guards' attention and the corpse would make part of a trail for them to follow. If they bothered. Something similar had happened once before after all and they'd hardly seemed interested, much less engaged. He was starting to wonder if they were in league with Alexander, or at least turning a blind eye to his activities.

There was still the driver to deal with however before he could get to Faith. With his hands still on the reins, the man twisted in his seat to look back at him balanced there. Padraig rarely if ever had taken advantage of the shield made of the same suns'light as the blade. Typically he ignored it. In this instance he reached out, took hold of the thing and rather than using it to defend himself, he used it like a bludgeon and slammed it into the man's face. Then letting go the shield again, his intention was to grab hold of the man by the collar, shove him off the seat and carriage, and take his place on the bench, reins taken in hand to draw back and slow the team of horses to a stop.
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Missed Carriage [Faith, Pad]

Postby Maltruism » Fri Jan 12, 2018 10:53 pm

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There are many distinctly different envelopes of pain. The type that is granted with a kick to a man's groin is almost taunting in the way it allows a man a few ticks to realize what is about to engulf him. Tork was not looking at Faith as her foot shot out to bring his balls flush with his ass. Even as she started shouting to her partner on the roof, Tork began delivering an order to her to shut up.

It died in a wheezing gurgle as his eyes bugged with the agonized sensation of his entire organ assembly being slowly crushed within a shrinking ribcage. He swayed as if uncertain of which way to fall as color drained from his face. He leaned just little too far out the door and was forced to extend his arm to keep from following Borley's ragdoll tumble into the street.

It seems such a small thing, to extend your arm. But a blow to the groin makes any movement that defies the body's need to curl into a fetal ball an unrelenting damnation. The only upside for Tork was that the severity of the pain made it virtually impossible for the hand that now clenched the rooftop rail to come unclenched, even with his full body weight swinging out to sag against the outer wall of the coach, as it now did.

But he would recover. Tork knew he would. And despite the pain, the resolve to carve his initials into this woman's lungs kept him focused, and promised to be sated in a shrieking fury of blood and ignored pleas for mercy. For now, his own dismal squeal of pain became his focal point as he powered through it with hateful rage, building it slowly back to a roar of vengeance. Maybe Alexander would be denied his own personal vengeance, but Tork told himself that when the old monster learned of the torturous ordeal to which he would now subject this wretched harridan, he too would be satisfied.

Padraig could have perhaps ended Tork right then had he not been wrestling with the surprisingly resilient Crank. It was almost as if the pain delivered frontally with the shield countered the previous shot to the jaw, and gave the thug some sort of punch-drunk balance. He had no weapon but the reins, and effectively backed from Padraig enough to lure the rescuer in to where the slack in the leather straps now gave him the means of strangling him.

No matter the couple of blows he received in the process. Padraig may have thought he was on the verge of knocking the fellow out, when in an instant, the brigand was all energy and surged up to make his attempt to wrap the leather cords around his neck. His success was only partially achieved, catching one of his enemy's arms to the point of lashing it ineffectually to his throat and forcing Pad to use the other arm to prevent having his throat entirely encircled.

Crank, however, was also committed to this with both arms and the two men's motions were more impacted by the swaying of the wagon than they were by the unbalancing moves they attempted on each other. Eyes, separated only by inches, glared hate and the promise of death into each other as the road flying beneath them beckoned them both with equal welcome to its shattering embrace.

Inside the coach, Stig had only the remaining wit to grab Crennon's discarded knife. He held it before him in terror with both hands as he crouched back muttering, "Cren... Cren...why? Why'd'ja do it? You said you'd be there for me! Whadoo I do? Whadoo I do? Al's gonna kill me when he finds out!" Wild eyes, set against green skin, cast about for a sign of some way to salvage the debacle, and his life. The only focus he seemed to be able to retain was the ability to swing the blade with insane warning at Faith anytime she appeared to be trying to struggle from beneath the body.
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Missed Carriage [Faith, Pad]

Postby Faith » Sat Jan 13, 2018 10:17 am

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She felt it connect, her foot and his groin and Faith let out a yell of pure rage. "Try and hurt a pregnant woman would you? WOULD YOU?" There was hysteria hitting in, there was no doubt about it, but it was fuelling her, adrenaline pumping and allowing her to not give in to the terror she was feeling. "COWARDS! Filthy, stinking cowards!" She continued to fight and to struggle, refusing to be silenced or stopped. She was terrified of the situation but Faith realised something in that moment. She was not afraid of them. Not one of them and she had never been more clear.

She was small and pregnant, there was no doubting that, but Faith was determined that she was getting out from underneath where she was pinned. "Don't you wave that at me!" It was ironic, really, that she sounded like she was telling Stig off. It was what she did sound like, like his mother might have. Should have she thought, suddenly, wildly. And then, she put all of her perhaps surprising levels of strength into pushing this damn dead many off her.

Assuming that she got out from underneath the corpse, Faith stood and immediately, she used her ability to shape her own ectoplasm, pulling it and turning it into a glistening black-grey sword, the blade of which moved in a viscous fluid shimmer and emanated cold. If she hadn't managed to get out from underneath the corpse before, she'd summon the sword and use it as leverage. Either way, she was determined to get out from beneath him. "You filthy, cowardly scum, I'm pregnant. PREGNANT!" The fury in the former slave's eyes was undeniable and as she held the blade, her comfort with it and ability to use it were evident in the ease of her movements. "Jump off, now, or I end you. I swear to Famula, Vri and Moseke, I might die in the doing of it, but you will die by my hands. Jump. NOW!" She meant it completely and she snarled the last at them. The solidified ectoplasm would remain solid for a good half-break, which was a lot longer than she needed, she knew. If they hesitated, or did not immediately comply, she would attack without pause, and she would not hesitate to kill.
"To be free is not merely to cast off one's chains, but to live in a way that respects and enhances the freedom of others."

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Missed Carriage [Faith, Pad]

Postby Padraig » Sat Jan 13, 2018 11:29 am

As a scholar and scientist, a sense of calm, focus, measure were all of them Pad's strengths. He wasn't temperamental by nature, rarely given to outbursts of temper or rage. But Crank in spite of several onslaughts of fist, foot or shield to the face, didn't seem to have the good graces to die. Faith was inside the carriage in the grips of madmen, their child was also in peril. That's where he needed to be and the driver was starting to piss him off.

In order to be in a position to get at him with the traces, to meet him eye for eye, Crank would be forced to abandon driving and get up on his feet. But he'd moved too quickly, forcing Padraig to withdraw one hand from the fight in order to stop himself being strangled to death. It limited his options and without a thought, he let the dagger and shield go, leaving them to return to the suns'light beating down around them.

There were ancient, unspoken and unwritten agreements between men. Those who knew one another and those who didn't, who liked each other or no. You didn't disparage another man's mother. If you saw a man dining with a woman that wasn't his wife, you didn't go reporting his conduct to the wife in question. And above all, even when locked in mortal combat alone or in mass, there were codes of conduct that were sacrosanct. There were tactics never considered, no matter their odds of success. For men. For women typically, not so much.

But these men had broken other codes...Rules related to honor, women and children. All bets were off. Circumstance, proximity and all that. Padraig didn't need that one hand free after all. Assured that he was balanced well enough, and in this instance the man's grip on him was more a help than a hindrance, his eyes never left Crank's as he brought one knee up, crushing and swift, in a way that Tork, dangling off the side of the carriage could probably relate to. Maybe even the Immortal's looking on, the male ones anyway, would collectively wince in sympathy.

But the scholar wasn't done. In the same split trill that his knee made contact, with his free hand, he slammed the butt of his palm up and into the man's nose as if to drive it in through his skull. And as if the sentiment behind it might add extra force to both maneuvers, he snarled into Crank's face, "Die already, you fekking son of a bitch!" Then having done it, he turned and stomped down on Tork's hand on the rail with the heel of his boot. Hard.
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