御手杵 - O T E G I N E (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
passthrough) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thegreatfurnace2022-10-09 08:21 pm
passthrough) wrote in thegreatfurnace2022-10-09 08:21 pmJGK RECOVERY SPACE
[for any overflow of game threads, memes, or psl continuations]
passthrough) wrote in thegreatfurnace2022-10-09 08:21 pm
WASTELAND CORRUPTION
He's fine for a while. He sticks close with the group of Sutoku heading out to investigate under Emily's command, on alert as instructed. But the farther they travel out, the more he can feel it's not quite right. Perhaps for all of them, at first, given the rough terrain and how high the temperature feels in comparison to the city. It's demanding and uncomfortable.
But something still pulls. Like a tug to the back of his mind, in countlessly aimless directions, a slow spiritual tearing at the seams. He can catch it at first, shake himself out of it just like he does for the worst of his dreams. But the longer they are out, and the hotter it gets, the more effort is starts to take. He keeps being pulled, pulled, pulled, to the unforgiving heat, to a dark pit that screams that this is where he belongs. This isn't what he'll escape. His history lies in unfortunate means, in a last moment of suffering, of heat that never ended. Why?
He can't ignore it forever. He can't. He can't.
It's so, so hot.
Those with any spiritual sense whatsoever will be able to tell something is wrong. If he's gone full mental, strong spiritual powers can pinpoint a spirit fully given in to distress.
1) If your character is from Sutoku and in the Emily party, Otegine will start the expedition in higher spirits, but be visibly dragging the longer they are out. His strength will still be up to par, but he's drifting off far more, less responsive, less talkative, perhaps acting wilder and even more animalistic during fights.
2) Regardless of faction, you can run into him in the wasteland proper, either struggling with the effects (see above) or down the deep end which will probably result in murder at absolute worst. Can he be talked down? Lmao. Maybe. You can try.
3) God forbid he gets back to the city like this and doesn't get instantly mauled by a bunch of other youkai, but YOLO, we can pretend. Maybe he doesn't snap until they do a full retreat from the wastelands. Maybe you're in the greeting party and you get a spear stab as a hello. Again, if you want him full tilt Yikes Mode, it's probably gonna be bad, you will probably get injured.]
no subject
Once they got it, Norimune is among those who came to greet them back. He's particularly concerned for his fellow Touken Danshi... who knows what the Wasteland can do to their body and soul? Hearing tales is one thing, but experiencing them is another.
As he walks over towards Otegine, his relief turns toward concern at seeing his exhaustion.]
Welcome back, Otegine—
[And immediately dodge the spear stab by pure instinct. His hand is already on his sword, ready to unsheathe it.]
My, my, if you want a spar, we can save it for after you rested up. Unless it's something else?
no subject
He doesn't speak in retaliation at first. What opens from his mouth is nothing but ragged breaths, the strained sound like someone choking out smoke, eyes clearly fixed on Norimune but without the open clarity of the yari that had left the city in one piece, a flaking away at the edges of his body that are hard to catch, like subtle cracks in the finish.
It's hot.
They've stepped away from the wastelands, from the sand and rock and agony... but the heat follows, it ALWAYS follows, like a dagger embedded in the back that burns with every breath. In the depths his mind has sunk, his situation hasn't changed, a wild and frantic panic of where to place the storm of emotion that fills him with power and yet robs him if thought. While dimly he recognizes the Touken in front of him, he has no instinct of what to do other than to lash out, to try and find something to make the pain stop. Make it stop.
The blade screeches as it drags against the ground, the polearm rapidly pulled up against exhausted limbs to try for another immediate strike towards the shoulder. His eyes never leave Norimune, wide and manic.]
no subject
All too easy to see the stab coming, and step to the side.]
Now, now, young Otegine. You're back and away from the Wasteland. If you keep this up, I'd be forced to do my job.
[If he won't lower his weapon, Norimune will unsheathe his blade. They talked about this before, about what might happen if this scenario may pop up. With so many unknown variables and away from their Citadel—their Saniwa sage—they can't ignore this. If one of them get disturbed, corrupted, they must be put down.
First thing first, they need to disarm Otegine. And then... he'll make his judgement in that moment.]
Let's get you settled down, shall we?
[While his tone sound light and friendly, the look in his eyes are sharp and serious. Barely a moment later, Norimune dashes in to try and disarm Otegine. To knock or force Otegine to drop his weapon even for a moment.]
no subject
He hears his name, a sound that hurts, that hears a tightness to his brow but not much else. But the rest hits deafened ears. He was where he was, an indistinct mess of sensation and figures that didn't belong. Norimune earns a jumble of a sound in response, a hissing of exhales and inhales from a mouth that doesn't move aside a bare part of lips, just barely sneering in annoyance at the missed blow. It's an echo of the Touken that's still there, still angered at the underperformance, still critical.
Make it stop.
When the tachi's blade is drawn, the yari draws up on instinct in return, a reflex and nothing more. While he whips the polearm up to deflect the blow, it's not with the speed that Norimune can offer, and one of his wrists can easily be hit with a voiceless hiss of pain from Otegine at the action. He hasn't dropped the weapon, and even tries to sweep it to knock Norimune off his feet in retaliation. But with only one hand to support the weight of the yari, even with the power of a Touken, it's no longer a smooth motion.
Not that he seems to care right now. A single word is seethed out, before he tries to swipe again.]
...s...to....p
no subject
And quickly pushes the yari to the ground. He stabs Otegine the upper arm, to pin him down and give him that sharp spike of pain. Blood is bleeding out from the wound, only somewhat sealed by the blade keeping most of the bloodflow inside. If this doesn't work...]
"Stop"... I can do that for you. Yari Otegine, is that your final answer to this Inspector?
no subject
The Touken's face twists as he starts to uncomfortably writhe against the pinning weight above his body, every yank of his arm earning a break in his maddening composure, a whimpering yelp.
Clarity has not completely entered his gaze when he tries to look back up at his judge... but his eyes struggle to focus, swamped over with the feelings that only manifested a hundred fold out in the stretches of the wastelands, an unwanted anchor holding him far, far underwater.]
why...
left b.....ehind... why was... i... l...eft be...
[Why didn't anyone come to save him that day?
Didn't they love him?
Didn't they bury him the night before?
Why was he left to break? Why is it now the only thing burned into his mind, with no memory to give the feelings clarity, only leaving a darkened visage of heat and noise and pain.
Sorrow at circumstance has never been a stranger to Otegine, even if he keeps it tucked away. But the twisting of the wastelands has nearly overtaken his heart.
His breathing grows rapid as his unpinned hand grips painfully around the blade embedded in his arm, earning more blood from his palm and another flash across his composure.]
...nor...imu..ne... help...m..
no subject
His decision and reasoning reflects his position, compared to many Touken summoned by the Saniwa at their Citadel. Any of them.]
I will. I'll make this quick and painless for you, Otegine.
[With those words, Norimune made his decision. There's no time for hesitation or doubt, it's time to put down and retire yari Otegine. He quickly pull out his sword—which have the yari's blood splattered and dripping long the blade—briefly freeing Otegine's arm.
And aimed for Otegine's chest, right at his heart in a downward stab.]
no subject
He doesn't say anything as he approaches, and he doesn't react much even as the spear pierces his gut. There's a soft grunt and a grimace, but the reaction is quite... muted. Owen is also still standing of his own power. He could have dodged or blocked the stab, surely, but for some reason he... didn't.]
Did you have a bad day?
[Honestly...]
NSFW; for this whole in advance since im assuming this is gonna be full of all sorts of Yikes
Despite how his eyes don't leave Owen, the malice of provocation isn't there. It's a wild and hurt gaze, piercing and unblinking, like an injured animal. At the edges of him, against the peripheral of his fingers, his face, in the way his clothing moves, there's a subtle flaking, like fine cracks in paint caught in the wind.
He just wants it to stop.
He forces out an exhale, a rough and rattling sound like something's caught in his chest, mouth moving through nonsensical syllables as though words no longer make sense, a mess of hissing sounds against an unmoving jaw through inhale and exhale that sounds like nothing but steam and smoke.
A beat, two, and his attention draws away for a moment, back to the screaming, back to the panic, the frenzy only fueling the fire. Stop, stop, someone has to make it stop.
His brow tightens, and his blade is rapidly yanked out, a trail of crimson spattering the walkway as the Touken clutches his spear in both hands, posture tight and almost hunched as he takes a step back, watching as though he expects Owen to fall.]
yikes on bikes™️
He pushes himself from the wall, suitcase manifesting at his side.
What happens to a spear if you break it?]
My, my. Is that how you greet your friends?
[He steps forward, until he’s almost touching the point of the spear.]
Poor thing. You can’t even understand what’s going on, can you?
[Otherwise, why would he be acting so unlike himself?]
no subject
...s..to...p...
[A roughened and messy whisper of a word, swallowed back.]
...wh...y....
no subject
"Why"? That's a vague question, isn't it?
[He hums softly, considering.]
Are you asking me or yourself?
no subject
...m...ake.... it... s..top....
no subject
Quare morito.
[Otegine does get the warning of a growl, and the purple mist escaping the suitcase, before Cerberus is snapping and biting, aiming to tear him apart.]
no subject
Otegine isn't the fetch toy he might have been in months prior, though. Though the beast gets a nasty rip of flesh and blood from the Touken's shoulder, the spirit's manic eyes only grow more frenzied, breaking into the creature's space to drive his blade against a hearty spot of bone and muscle near its neck. It's not enough to kill it, not even remotely, but there is momentum enough with an unnatural strength that launches him like a vault from a pole, ripping his blade out as he goes and slamming his weight onto a nearby roof with the shattering of shingles. A pause, brief, before he shoots forward again, the debris around him scattering at the force of his movement, a launching jump to try to land on the creature's back. He's bleeding rather profusely, the fine cracks on his image starting to spread with an ugly whispering of smoke from the spaces, but it doesn't seem to be bothering him.]
no subject
His suitcase snaps shut again, and Owen lets out a slow breath, soothing over the worry for his pet and adjusting his hat.
Something more decisive needs to be done, then. It starts with a coat of ice that spreads across the ground, which will hopefully give Owen an advantage as the wizard is able to hop up and sit on his broom, suspended in air. It ends with blades of ice rushing at Otegine, aiming to tear him apart. They're sharp enough to cut dragon scales, Owen knows, but if the spear is still standing after this... Well.
He can find other ways to force those cracks wider.]
no subject
He's not fast enough to dodge completely, a chunk directly slicing against one leg and enough against his skull to lose him the vision in one eye, the taste of blood souring his mouth. It hurts. His exhales start to come not as steam to the cold, but as smoke, black and rancid, his skin slowly starting to grow ashen. The cracks are spreading on the man, even if the blade seems to still be fine. But he doesnt pause, tucking to the side through his dodge, launching up an awning to get enough footing to leap towards Owen and take another stab at him mid-air.]
no subject
How ashamed would Otegine feel if he learned of this fight?
Very, hopefully.]
You know, I might miss you, if you don’t come back. I’m almost fond of you.
[There aren’t many wizards who would be a worse choice to pick a fight with Owen, when they’re actually able to use their magic. Maybe if Otegine’s spirit isn’t entirely destroyed when his form breaks, he’ll have an idea where Owen’s arrogance comes from.
But that’s irrelevant.]
Cur memini.
[It’s a simple, straightforward attack - raw magical energy directed at the man and his spear, with enough power sunk into it to take out a few of the buildings around him, too.]
no subject
There's a register of words spoken, a tightening of his face as he seethes for breath after his blade makes contact. But pinned as he is to Owen's body, he wouldn't be able to jerk himself free if he tried. The blade is ripped loose, only a second before the area is flattened by the force of Owen's attack.
Otegine slams back-first into the pavement with the audible crack of both bone and wood as his polearm snaps into shards at the force, blood flowing up from his throat. He shudders violently, choking for breath under blood and smoke and a garbled, vibrant yell of pain, but unable to move.
The sound of shattering glass starts to echo through the rubble, even as Otegine weakens in his convulsions. From where it's been tossed from the force of the attack, the spearhead delicately cracks, and with it, so does Otegine - a slow spreading of breakage, of parts of him chipping and falling away as he loses the strength to stay in one piece. Shattering, shattering.
This... wasn't how it ended before. This wasn't the heat, the fire, the melting. This.... was...
What little clarity he regains is barely shown in his eyes, barely able to look up towards Owen's silhouette, to weakly mouth out the syllables of a voice that doesn't come, before his gaze clouds over entirely.
The sound of shattering continues to echo, and Otegine's body falls entirely still, before the discarded spearhead finally snaps in two.]
no subject
There’s no mana stone left behind, though, nothing Owen could harvest. There’s just a lifeless body and a broken spear.
He lands next to the corpse, drawing all the fragments of the spear to himself. Just leaving them scattered in the wreckage feels wrong, somehow. At the very least they’ll be a good trophy. Perhaps he can repair him, somehow, and display him proudly. This is the spirit he killed.
(Or, perhaps, Otegine will come back. How easily destroyed is a spirit?)
He looks at the splintered pieces gathered in front of him, magic ensuring that he hasn’t missed even the smallest piece, and he sets them in his suitcase for safekeeping.
And to keep them out of sight for now, when looking at them makes him feel like he’s going to be sick with the way his stomach twists and turns and his chest feels so tight with something utterly incomprehensible and inexplainable.]
no subject
As time passes in the city, Owen might hear glimmers of rumor, tales of a mournful, malevolent ghost trapped outside the walls of the city, tasting of smoke and searching for something lost. It never fights, never shows itself, never says its name - one would probably not think much of it, outside the scents and sounds and an apparent shroud of sorrow as it passed by.
Good riddance, of course. It's where the mad belong, to the stretches of the dunes. What's one more lost spirit to the seas of hell?]
no subject
he probably should've tried to talk otegine out of going, knowing what they did about the risks and how new he is to this place, but there wasn't any reason to think everything wouldn't be fine. otegine certainly seemed confident enough in the task and ryouma was glad to have someone strong and capable backing up emily's efforts.
for all these reasons, ryouma has no reason to anticipate an attack and the only reason he manages to avoid this one is because he's a servant. despite the threat, he doesn't reach for any of his own weapons. ]
If y' were a sword, ya probably would've got me.
[ making light of dangerous situations, as always. ]
It was pretty rough out there, huh?
no subject
At the very least, he's not coated in blood, nor is his weapon. If a massacre among his traveling party with Emily in tow had happened, it had happened quick... and Otegine definitely returned alone.
Well. If this could be called Otegine. The aura of him feels off, and the edge of his body subtly flickers and cracks, like smoking embers being spit from the wild blaze of a fire. The look he keeps strung on Ryouma lacks light or any true recognition, a frenzy to it as he shoots forward once again with little more than another heaving exhale, aiming to pierce Ryouma in the shoulder.]
no subject
well, he knew it was going to be like that from the beginning, anyway. barely anybody he knew well was out here, so it was natural to end up by himself- he worked better that way. he doesn't need to eat, need to sleep (even if he does enjoy it anyway), and so he wanders about while the others rest, the sensation of blood sticking to his clothes only mildly irritating.
he's not expecting to run into anybody else here, since most are keeping watch or resting up, and this...isn't a face he can recall. not with familiarity, anyway....if he thinks back, he might have caught a glimpse of him with the sutoku pack. none of the factions are mingling properly, so it's only natural his shoulders tense up, weight of his knife heavy in his boot. ]
<< the fuck are you doing? take a hike, bozo. >>
[ it doesn't register to him, hands snapping in practiced movements, that something is really off about this guy. his gait is wrong, his eyes are wrong. unfortunately, dosei is not the most observant of people, and it's really showing when he merely takes a step closer with a hidden frown. ]
<< i ain't gonna rat you out if you beat it. i'm not in the mood. >>
no subject
The lack of a voice actually keeps him from acknowledging Dosei completely at first, his gait aimless. But when the masked man starts to break the distance, still making those sharp and confusion motions, Otegine's eyes snap directly towards him with little more than a rattling exhale.
Make it stop. Something has to make the pain stop.
There's a bare, fleeting pause, before Otegine's entire posture tenses. Spear drawing back, he shoots forward immediately to break the space and pierce the figure in front of him.]
no subject
the weird death rattle that escapes the taller man's throat makes his shoulders stand on end, and he finds himself subconsciously stepping back to reach a hand down to his pocket, where one of his knives is-
but it isn't fast enough. he blinks, and then he's far, far too close, and there's an unpleasant dull pain. he stumbles backwards from the force, bewilderment pinching his brows before he finally looks down to actually register what happened. bright, silver-colored liquid seeps out of the gouge in his stomach, dripping ominously to the floor, and that's enough of a sight to snap him out of it.
he's definitely not the strongest person, not by himself, but he's resilient if anything. face contorting in aggravation, he latches onto the spear's blade, metal cutting into the soft skin of his fingers without so much as a wince, and dosei attempts to rip it out- in a rather messy fashion, mind you. free hand digging in his pocket, it wraps around one of numerous small knives, before being yanked out and promptly throwing it straight at the other's face.
at the very least, even if it doesn't hit, it should get him to back off. ]