(no subject)

[conjuredskies]

This evening's taken an interesting turn.

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[sixthanimorph]

[Deaf, nearly blind, David has almost no way of knowing what's going on. There's vibrations around him; the necromancers presumably, and then nothing. Left to wait for a hand to scoop him up, or much worse, a boot to stomp him, David's on the verge of shifting right back here and now, to hell with Felix and to hell with his plan. He agreed to two simple jobs, and nowhere in either of those jobs was the possibility of being squashed by filthy necromancer boots into the snow raised.]

[And then David feels something that makes him forget all about necromancer boots, makes him forget the necromancers entirely for that matter. A throbbing, seething surge of something, some horrible something that seems to be rising up all around him, in the air and on his skeever fur and even in his heartbeat. Something's coming. Something like a tidal wave, so overwhelming that he feels certain he'll drown in it.]

[Suddenly, something new permeates the inexorable wave of dread: a scent, one he recognizes at once as that of Felix's flower, the one he himself stole and then placed into the altar. This must be it, whatever trick the conjurer has in mind. He's not sure what to expect; a poison cloud perhaps, or maybe the undead turning on their masters-]

[Instead, something much worse than the necromancers or any undead creature emerges from the air. David can only barely make it out, ill defined and obscure above him, a nearly amorphous shape. There's vague movement and vibrations all around him as the necromancers fall into open panic, but David himself is literally frozen with terror. He can't even summon the focus to shift back -- for all the good it would do him now. Because he knows what their ritual summoned now, as surely as he knows his own name. One of the false gods, the destroyers he was been taught to fear since he could read and write. A Daedra.]

< Oh, no... no, no no no... >

[David's moaning in abject terror, no private message this time, but instead a terrified flood of thoughts anyone around him can hear. He can't help it. The Daedra's close, so close he can feel its very presence. It feels like ants crawling over every inch of his body, worse by far than the slow beating dread invoked by the necromancers. Unable to bring himself to fight or flee, David can only cower in the snow and wait for death.]