This is entirely IC-based from the most recent Progression post. Anything in super nitty-gritty detail's probably not known IC unless Kaja told, obviously.
No amount of preparation could fill her spirit with confidence, nor could it familiarize her with the images of war. The cries of men and women alike; the living fighting against the dead. Never had she seen such a melding pot of all sorts of races fighting alongside each other - all against a common enemy. The stakes were never higher. Oh, how bittersweet the feeling was. They were all split up, and her group was to pinpoint the wall.
The stomping feet of oncoming Lo soldiers mixed with those that belonged to the Resistance. Kaja's were no different, yet it wasn't strength that carried her: it was fear. Her heart was beating at what felt inhuman speeds. All five senses seemed hypersensitive, all too vivid -- the cries of pain and death, the clanking of steel on steel, the blood painting the ground beneath them. She could practically smell the iron, the rot that had not yet would inevitably come.
All around the Santorski were assaults and casualties - both Lo and rebel took their tolls. A stray arrow landed beside her, sending her into a spree for distance and higher ground. She panted and gasped, eyes widened as she tried to keep sight of everything around her, the entire 360 degrees. The girl shrieked as a Lo Deathling soldier charged her, only to be football-tackled by a berserk Darak. Once more did she scramble, forward and forward, and only forward she could go. Her bow was in hand, an arrow loaded. She find a stopping point and drew back: landing an arrow in the cheek of a Deathling far off on the wall.
Kaja had no time to catch a drop of relief. Her legs were practically wheeling as she multi-tasked. Another arrow was hastily drawn from the quiver on her body. The Ravenstad-Santorski hybrid was about as focused as she could be while she took a knee behind some cover. she peeked over some railing on the wall and searched for a target.
Something fizzled nearby. A fly over a corpse? She paid no matter, what had her attention's grasp was a fellow rebel struggling against a Deathling; an archer like herself. Though there was a fault, an obstacle: the two were grappling like madmen, constantly shuffling around and making pinpointing extremely difficult. Kaja bit her lip, adjusting her aim over and over, trying to stay on the Deathling and not her brother in arms. Fizzle. Like clockwork, with no difficulty did she release the arrow; exhaling while the drawstring popped forward.
Boom.
"Proud... you," the voice said while running his thumb over her hand, only bits of his phrases reaching her.
Kaja's eyes could barely focus on the sky above her. It was so beautiful: grey clouds yet the sun peeking through any gaps. A few birds flew high above the her - mobile ink lines along a canvas. The wind seemed to pick up, just enough to graze over her face while she shifted her pan of vision to the being.
He had striking ginger hair, eyes just like hers. He seemed so incredibly familiar, like she had seen him before somewhere. Yet, Kaja could make no connections then. His hand was cold yet comforting, his grasp on her left hand gentle. He was knelt beside her, his other hand smoothing over some of her hair and keeping it away from her face.
"You are so strong." The man's voice whispered, carrying into her being like life's essence. It shrouded through her right side from head to toe; it almost tickled, the way it felt. Something warm had dotted and covered her face, as it had on her clothing. "Look how far you've come." Her breath seemed stable, at least to her, and thus she tried to sit up to see the man even more clearly - however, he was quick to (gently) interfere, insisting she keep on her back.
"Just look at me. Just keep looking at me," he urged her with a soothing tone. Kaja slightly nodded, gasping through parted lips. Her body was straining for air, and she knew this the more she struggled, but the Santorski child was captivated. "I want to tell you I'm proud."
His words echoed in her head, activating the ringing that bounced between the two sides of her head; left to right. Her clothes were getting more and more warm, dampened by something - was it heated water? Surely she was not so filthy from the battle. But, even then that question left her. She stared up into the man's matching eyes, her shrapnel-lodged body beginning to ache on the right side. It was a strange, befuddling reality: to be so captivated, intrigued, able to ignore the annoying sting of her own body but also being acutely aware of it.
She opened her mouth to speak, but he gave a simple 'shh.' Kaja would not argue with him, so her eyes instead studied the outline of his form. Unfortunately, he was shadowed, one of the sun's rays hitting just over him to accomplish such a shrouding tactic. The hum of battle only provided to be useful as white noise for the fallen. This is how it must feel, she thought, to be blessed.
To her Gods did she mutely call to. Her thoughts were her beck and cry, wanting to see Bashtur amidst the battle in all of his glory. To hear his message. Though there was something interrupting her process of communication. Something - someone - annoying. Kaja called for Bashtur again, yet no one appeared. She begged once more, but her only response was the sudden gentle squeeze of the man's hand on hers; his farewells were but a sweet whisper.
It all faded too quickly. The man, gone, as two sets of hands began to scramble her away from the field; a bloodied hand had been beside her. It's not mine. There was a trail after her, both blood-red and dark-red, nearly black. Even some sort of powder mixed in. She licked her lips, flicking from the sight of the dirt-covered hand and the blood trail that seemed to hound her.
They passed the wall- they passed it. I fell, she told herself with no concerns; other-worldly transcendence. It was as if she could see herself being pulled along, but her vision was edging to a close from the outermost corners. She felt her head being propped against something uneven: a tree's base.
"Too-... blood."
"-essure... Keep pressure on it."
"Stay awake!" A man reprimanded Kaja, slapping the left side of her face in rapid succession. Her eyes would widen open, but threaten to close each time. She wanted to sleep, to find relief and get her rest. She would have sworn she verbally protested, but the image of the two healers was muddled as her head dipped.
Stay awake.
