[It's enough of a warning to get Vakama to immediately look in the direction of her hand.
A brief moment flickers once more, of his form shifting like an illusion - no longer Matoran, back into Toa, grabbing one of the many metal disks laid around the room and chucking it at the widest part of the vine with a deep flash of ice on contact (16). An unholy screeching noise rips through the space, a noise that definitely should not be coming from something that looks like a plant as it tucks away.
But as the first retreats, a second tendril whips up to snake around the Toa's ankle. With a sudden shift back to his smaller form and a yelp of alarm, the vine snaps back and then forwards, slamming him against the top of the forge.
Answer, Vakama.
It's a voice that echoes from nowhere, piercing but echoing. A reverberation, not a source.
we're wasting time--
--hunting down just because of--
--so sure about this--
Who is responsible?
The heat starts to rise suddenly. Drastically.
As Ashley stumbles away, the surroundings morph again - the wreck of an enormous open furnace almost unfathomably tall, s̸͕͓̄ǒ̴̱̪͈̠͌͐ṁ̸̛̠͌̑ḙ̷͍̺͂̿̕͝ť̶̫͌̊h̸̛̛͓͓͈̾̒į̵̘͙͉̀̈n̴̢̩͉̺̏̎̀g̵̨̙̎ boiling in its catastrophic flames.
With a whipping snap, Vakama is fully thrown across the room like a ragdoll.
What time was wasted in your incessant searching?
What lives brought to suffer?
For a split second, as Vakama struggles to his feet, his Toa form flickers back -- stumbling towards Ashley, a hand outstretched that wraps with building, swirling fire.]
Ashley -- hold on, I won't let you fall to this--!!!
[But that same shadowed tendril grips him tight by the waist, and his form changes right back, yelling and shoving for purchase as he's lifted right back into the air.
Ashley will find her limbs drawn down on the spot in a rain of unavoidable projectiles. Hundreds of thousands of seeded capsules fall from the ceiling; cracking open where they land, growing quickly like a mass of writhing, multiplying snakes of rot and plant and darkness, grasping out to wrap her still and drag her to a fiery death.
No matter whether she acts or stays still, she will feel that some sort of innate power in her is draining without replenishment, a slow exhaustion.]
cw fires, tentacle/snake imagery just to be safe
A brief moment flickers once more, of his form shifting like an illusion - no longer Matoran, back into Toa, grabbing one of the many metal disks laid around the room and chucking it at the widest part of the vine with a deep flash of ice on contact (16). An unholy screeching noise rips through the space, a noise that definitely should not be coming from something that looks like a plant as it tucks away.
But as the first retreats, a second tendril whips up to snake around the Toa's ankle. With a sudden shift back to his smaller form and a yelp of alarm, the vine snaps back and then forwards, slamming him against the top of the forge.
Answer, Vakama.
It's a voice that echoes from nowhere, piercing but echoing. A reverberation, not a source.
we're wasting time--
--hunting down just because of--
--so sure about this--
Who is responsible?
The heat starts to rise suddenly. Drastically.
As Ashley stumbles away, the surroundings morph again - the wreck of an enormous open furnace almost unfathomably tall, s̸͕͓̄ǒ̴̱̪͈̠͌͐ṁ̸̛̠͌̑ḙ̷͍̺͂̿̕͝ť̶̫͌̊h̸̛̛͓͓͈̾̒į̵̘͙͉̀̈n̴̢̩͉̺̏̎̀g̵̨̙̎ boiling in its catastrophic flames.
With a whipping snap, Vakama is fully thrown across the room like a ragdoll.
What time was wasted in your incessant searching?
What lives brought to suffer?
For a split second, as Vakama struggles to his feet, his Toa form flickers back -- stumbling towards Ashley, a hand outstretched that wraps with building, swirling fire.]
Ashley -- hold on, I won't let you fall to this--!!!
[But that same shadowed tendril grips him tight by the waist, and his form changes right back, yelling and shoving for purchase as he's lifted right back into the air.
Ashley will find her limbs drawn down on the spot in a rain of unavoidable projectiles. Hundreds of thousands of seeded capsules fall from the ceiling; cracking open where they land, growing quickly like a mass of writhing, multiplying snakes of rot and plant and darkness, grasping out to wrap her still and drag her to a fiery death.
No matter whether she acts or stays still, she will feel that some sort of innate power in her is draining without replenishment, a slow exhaustion.]