IC: EVENT

[bossman]

A TERRIBLE THING IS HAPPENING

reference books detailing myths and legends stolen from libraries...
wikipedia pages wiped clean from the face of the internet...
ancient stained glass windows smashed and destroyed...
historical research centers burnt to the ground...

Someone out there is trying very, very hard to erase all of the possible sources of power and belief of the ancient gods and goddesses. And it hurts. Whilst the powers of the minders are unharmed by the attacks, the gods and goddesses will be certainly feeling the toll: it's now painfully clear that even the simplest of miracles are now becoming almost impossible to perform.

deities, you had better have gifted your minders with some decent blessings! Because now you're going to rely on them more than ever. Someone is out to get you.

Comments

[contagious]

[He's shaking, he's fucking shaking, and he never shakes. Not against his will, not so violently. His forehead is clenched tight, his fingers twitching against Charles' wrist, the other pushing the bowl of blood and bowels away violently enough to splash and spill.]

...Kill them all. Make them suffer.

[His voice is a mere croak, and he doesn't need to tell Charles to hold onto him so he doesn't fall over. He's still strong, has so very much of his power, but this? This is whiplash for the chronically and emphatically ill.]

[paravail]

[He doesn't react to the blood spilled, despite the meaning behind it. Something is wrong and neither of them can say why.

But Charles is too absorbed by his powers -- both the physical and the emotional -- to give it any deserving thought. He feels as though he's drowning. His words are sharp gasps for air, shapes of absent thoughts.]

I must find her. The apprentice--she will help us.

[contagious]

[At the mention of Taylor Pestilence nods, because yes, yes bring the girl, he needs her hands, but then he shakes his head, grabbing at Charles' wrist again. The skin beneath his hand blisters and oozes, and he leans his damp forehead against Charles' chest.]

No. Just need to rest, you are not to leave.

[paravail]

[A sound is lost in his throat when Pestilence reaches for him again, and one again his gift gets to work. Charles stops, defeated by orders he wouldn't know how to disobey, breathing sharply to gain some control.]

I will wait for her. [He pauses, eyes shut.] She must know.

[contagious]

She already knows.

[How could she not, after all? He hasn't left the room and has no intention of doing so, but he has a pretty good idea what the rest of the house is like at the moment. Minder's running around like chickens without heads and Dean being the calmest one by far. War is likely on a rampage of some sort, that would be far from a surprise. He shakes his head against Charles' chest, his grip not loosening.]

Stay with me. When I'm asleep, ready my bike.