bringspeopletogether | [milliways] search and rescue

[milliways] search and rescue

Okay. So. First night in a tavern at the supposed end of the world and he's about to go running into a blizzard to rescue two men he doesn't know.

This is, by far, the most normal part of Alistair's very bizarre evening.

When he asks for equipment, the enchanted bar heaps up piles of furs, three strange lanterns with little clear orbs where a candle would go, a long length of rope, some sort of canvas backpack with the letters SAR stitched on one side, and what looks like a bright red, misshapen crossbow. He frowns at it as he gets to work shrugging on all the necessary layers.

"Do you know what that is?" he asks Chuck.

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Two things happen almost simultaneously:

The smaller spider whips one claw around and seizes the end of Chuck's stick, clamping down on it solidly.

And the bigger one jerks back, letting out a whistling shriek of pain, crystalline ichor leaking from its eye cluster.

As though in answer, the wind gusts sharply, lashing both humans with stinging snow.

Chuck doesn't let the interference stop him, using his momentum to carry the stick forward. He probably won't reach the eyes but what the fuck, nobody likes having their limbs forced behind their heads, right? Spidercrab things likely included.

He squints against the harsh wind.

Alistair's eyes narrow, but it's not just in reaction to the wind. Giant spiders, all right, that's actually kind of normal for him -- it's the very-coincidental snow blast that isn't.

Magic ice spiders. Yeah. That's a new one.

With barely a moment's hesitation, he dives forward, trying to get his daggers into the spider's belly before it raises itself out of reach. If that earns him another blast of snow to the face? Then he'll know for sure.

And there is, indeed, another blast of snow to the face -- this time not from the swirling storm, but directly from the spinneret-looking spot on the vast spider's abdomen. It's clearly a move of flailing defense as it reacts to the unexpected eye injury; the creature is still staggering slightly, which at its size is not necessarily reassuring.

Chuck's spider, meanwhile, clings to the stick even as its leg is forced backward -- and pays for it almost immediately, as the leg gives way with a sharp bitter snap like a green stick. Its shriek is a thin wail in comparison to the full-grown spider's bellow, but still loud enough to shiver the eardrums.

That's the thing about momentum -- it doesn't stop working when you no longer need it. With the abrupt loss of resistance, Chuck careens forwards. His feet slide in the snow as he attempts to stop, the heavy weight still attached to the end of his stick unbalancing him.

He drops it too late, falling and sliding underneath the spider, head thumping against its abdomen as he does.

"Bloody fucking--" he covers his head and neck with his arms, and tries to assess his potential weapons through the noise.

Alistair's head turns at the shout, just enough to get a glimpse of Chuck and the baby spider. (This has the extra bonus of deflecting some of the full-grown spider's blast. Only half his face gets smacked with a bunch of snow instead of all of it! Take that, giant terrifying magical ice bug!)

It's more to place them on his mental map of the battlefield than anything. He's taking Chuck at his word: the man can take care of himself, and -- aside from the other obvious reason they're out here -- Alistair getting back alive is the top priority of their little group.

If he thinks about that too much, it's really not going to sit well with him.

...If he thinks about that too much, it's also going to end with the giant spider crashing down on him, so let's dive out of the way and stab a few more legs while we're at it! Maybe if Alistair cripples this beast enough, he can toss one of his daggers to Chuck.

Alistair's daggers don't do a lot of damage to the spider's armored legs, but by luck or design he does manage to carve a gash in one spot between armor-plates. Ichor leaks out and freezes almost instantly, and the spider reacts by swinging another leg at the troublesome little human, claws splayed.

The baby spider, meanwhile, is doing its damnedest to bite Chuck on the spine. Unfortunately for it (and fortunately for Chuck), there are far too many layers of fabric and fur in the way.

Chuck debates the flare gun, but he doesn't want to waste it on this spider. Instead he grabs the radio, turning it in his hand so it's sharp edge forward.

Keeping his head down, he reaches out and grabs high up onto one of the legs, smashing the radio into it.

At the same time --

WHUMPH.

The baby spider's shriek almost drowns out Alistair's yelp as the blow connects. He goes flying, tumbling end-over-end through a snowdrift. Boots skidding a bit on the ice, he scrambles back to his feet as fast as he can, ignoring the ache in his ribs.

"What?" he yells at the spider. "Do you want to hit me to death or freeze me to death? Make up your mind!"

Back into the fray he goes.

Whatever the relation between the baby spider and the adult, there doesn't seem to be much going on in the way of parental protectiveness; the bigger spider ignores the little one's cry and goes right back at Alistair, this time lunging to bite.

The smaller spider, with two of its legs injured and apparently facing an unbiteable foe, tries firing its freezing blast at Chuck again. It's colder this time, and sharper; snow crystallizes out of the air in its path, and frost forms on the edges of Chuck's outermost coat.

Chuck tears the injured leg off as he rolls out from the spider, gagging at the sound it makes.

He can't help feeling bad -- this thing is small for its species, and unprotected, and in pain -- but it's trying to kill him, and depending on how its magic works it might be able to. He smacks it hard against the face with the flat of its own leg.

"Just go," he yells, furious, raising the walkie talkie as well. If it doesn't retreat, he'll kill it.

Edited 2016-03-06 04:21 (UTC)

Ichor has frozen up over the stump of the torn-away leg, and over the splintered parts of the broken one, but it's still dribbling out of the leg Chuck's holding. His blow leaves a splatter of it across the spider's face, and that seems to be the last straw.

Slowly, limping and glaring balefully, the spider backs away.

If only the same could be said of the bigger spider.

Alistair twists away in time to avoid being bitten, but going on the offensive proves a bit trickier. A longsword can cut through nearly anything if you swing it hard enough. Daggers? Not so much. Trying to aim so precisely at the little gaps in the spider's legs slows him down more than he'd like.

Nothing for it but to keep hacking away, though.

Chuck keeps an eye on it just long enough to be sure it's going, then turns towards Alistair and the massive spider. He clips the walkie talkie back into his jacket, and double checks the location of the flare gun.

He's got no real weapons to fight with, since the spider dragged his stick away, and he drops the leg he's holding -- it'll be useless against the thick spiked armor on the legs of the older spider. He's useless to Alistair on the ground.

He adjusts his gloves -- happy he's wearing two pairs, though not sure they'll help -- and sighs. Well, it's time for something really stupid.

Chuck jogs towards the side of the spider Alistair's not currently thrashing -- with a little luck, and the right hand hold, he might be able to climb this thing.

There are definitely places that could qualify as handholds, in the armor plating on the spider's legs. And they're even relatively stable right now, the rear legs planted firmly to free the front legs to strike.

It doesn't even seem to notice Chuck's approach at first, as it aims another swinging blow at Alistair.

Alistair ducks in time for the blow to go whistling overhead. The instant it's clear, he pops back up to slam one of his blades into the spider's leg.

Where...it promptly gets stuck.

Frozen over, caught too tightly between the spider's armor, whatever -- it ends with Alistair getting dragged quite a few feet father than expected, swearing loudly and creatively the whole while, before he can let go of the hilt. And now he's only got one dagger. Fantastic.

With a frustrated growl, he grips it in both hands and swings as hard as if he were carrying a fifty-pound broadsword.

Chuck grabs onto one of the legs and pulls himself up - armor sharp but not (yet) actually slicing through his gloves or boots.

He's about halfway up the leg when Alistair starts swearing. He freezes for a moment, considering.

Swearing's probably good, right? It means he's not dead yet!

Chuck resumes climbing, as quickly as he can without losing grip. It's not as quick as he'd like.

The spider's definitely favoring the leg that's got a dagger wedged in it; it might be slowing down a little.

Still moving fast enough that Alistair can't afford to let his guard down, though, if he doesn't want to get hit with another blast of ice.

Let his guard down, get distracted by the sight of Chuck climbing the spider like a ladder...the narration makes a noncommittal, wiggly hand motion.

Alistair's eyebrows fly up. Chuck gets a fleeting grin -- as they might say in another world, he likes the cut of your jib, sir -- before he yells and doubles down on his attacks, hard. Anything he can do to keep the spider's attention on him? He's going to do it.

Chuck grins back, before disappearing entirely out of view.

Up above the body of the spider, the wind is really fucking cold. Chuck squints against it, and down to the top of the spider's body. He could climb across the knee-- for lack of a better word-- and down, but the spiked armor would no longer be pointing against gravity. Still, it's probably better than jumping across to its surface. It'd definitely notice that.

He makes the transition from the part of the leg going up-to-the-knee to the part of the leg going down-to-the-body easily enough. Actually keeping his grip when the spider moves -- well, it's a good thing some ShatterDomes use fireman's poles.

The spider abruptly draws itself high up in the air, all legs at their fullest possible extension, and freezes in place.

And then begins flailing the leg Chuck is clinging to, trying frantically to dislodge him.

~~HELP, HELP, THERE'S A HUMAN ON ME, GET IT OFF.~~

"Bloody--!" Chuck bites off his exclamation, clinging tighter and ducking his head against the dislodged snow.

Okay. He can figure this out. Just have to think.

(If the flailing doesn't stop soon, he might get sick.)

Uh-oh.

"Hey!" Alistair yells. "Hey! Down here! I'm much more annoying and delicious, ask anyone!"

He punctuates the last by ramming his blade straight through the nearest spider leg.

Another piercing shriek-roar, and another immediate torrent of frozen wind, full of tiny shards of ice sharp enough to cut. The spider's ichor freezes over Alistair's blade; it will take considerable effort to wrench it out again, if he can keep his grip.

The leg Chuck's clinging to is jerking and trembling, but the concerted flailing of a moment ago has -- briefly -- stopped.

Chuck rolls his eyes at Alistair's shouting, but takes advantage of its effects while he can.

He pulls off his outer gloves with his teeth, for grip, and tucks them into his jacket. Then he jumps for it, fingers gripping into the spider's icy fur as he pulls himself up.

"Ugh!" He says, involuntarily. He starts to climb.

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