Wit hardly has time to process the sudden flit of chaos as Kvasir steps in front of him-- the sound of fabric tearing mingling with the flash of iridescent wings, underlain with that same horrible buzzing and the sharp tang of something much more visceral, all at once tugging at his senses. His leaves set on edge as he sees the red beading up on Kvasir's arm. Red, red is bad. Red means hurties, and too many hurties can kill you.

Except, Kvasir can fix hurties, right? He's a healer, he's a doctor, this is what he's best at... Right?! The little plant's eyes dart from the failing attempt to call forth magic to Astrid's weapon whipping through the air as it squelches the culprit in an instant, bewildered by the unfamiliar look of distress in Kvasir's eye.

Scurrying out from behind, Wit tugs the hem of his friend's shirt. "N-no heal..?" He squeaks, panic seeping into his voice. "Why it no do?"

Just as the question leaves his tongue, however, the full force of the oncoming swarm's excitedly chittering mandibles and buzzing wings snaps his attention back up to the forest canopy. There are so many of them, far more than Wit can count-- dozens, hundreds, thousands, maybe even six. The cacophony of hungry insects as they prepare to converge on the party threatens to overwhelm his senses, replacing any further words with an instinctive, hissing shriek.

There's barely a moment to process Astrid's call before Wit springs forward, sprinting in the direction of the metal man.

It's a strange thing, really, to be divided from something etched into your very soul.

Kvasir does not remember how old he was when he first found he had the capacity to call upon Solaria's light, to channel the stars and the sun and the glow of the woods into his very palms and shape it to his will, shape it into something that could bleach the world's cruelties from skin and bone. He had been young, he knows that much-- for as far back as his memory spans, no matter the gaping cavities that carve their way between the years, he cannot remember a time where light has not surged through him, a second set of veins, gilded in ethereal glow.

He is hardly reliant on that magic, of course. He would be a poor doctor if his only medical knowledge was bestowed upon him through divine light-- no, there are things that the gods' magic cannot touch that the gifts of the earth can, things that plants and powders can undo that not even Solaria's treasure can. But being divided from it this way feels like being cut off from a vital system-- as though his lungs are failing, or his heart, or his nerves, or something of equal importance. It feels wrong, horribly wrong.

He does not have much time to linger on it. His spiral is intercepted by a hellish choir, a cacophony of buzzing filling the air as more of these wretched insects charge in, mandibles clicking, wings fast as lightning, curiosity and hunger alike poured into their chorus. They are here to attack, and Astrid and Wit are here, and they are young and small and have so much of the world to see, still, and Kvasir must be a good adult and protect them with all he has.

No magic roars through his veins as he flexes his fingers, no holy power flowing through him-- no matter. He'll just... have to shoot them.

...Multiple tiny, flying targets, all moving exceptionally quickly.

A marksman's dream, really.

"It's fine," he says quickly, forcing a smile as he draws his bow, pulling the string back so a familiar surge of light can flow through it, forming an arrow of pure light. At least this still works. "Just-- just stay out of harm's way, you two."

Kvasir fires off an arrow toward one of the bugs, trying not to let stress show on his face as it grazes one of their wings, sending it just slightly off course. Gods above, he's going to need to channel every bit of marksmanship prowess he has for all of this, otherwise he's going to be useless! Worse than useless, even! What's he going to do if he can't use magic and can't shoot them, throw flowers around and hope for the best?

He sighs quietly, pulling the bowstring back once more.

This is going to be a long fight.

As the tiny armored warrior smashes into bugs, she hears Wit asking why Kvasir can't heal himself. Oh, so he does have healing magic! Well, he'll be just fine. Wait, did she hear that right? It's not working? Oh, that's significantly worse. 

"Wait, ya can normally heal yerself, but now ya can't??" Astrid shrieks just as her hammer collides with a bug and splatters its guts, leaving its legs hanging in the air temporarily until gravity catches up with them and pulls them to the underbrush below. That's bad. That's definitely bad. "W-Well, I can't heal ya either, so..." 

Stay out of harm's way?!?

"Mister Kvasir, d'ya hear yerself? Did the bug bite get yer brains too?" An insect flies right at Astrid and slams into her buckler. She shoves it back and smashes it with her hammer. "Ya ain't the one wearin' a buncha armor! I am! COME AT ME, BUGS!" There's too many of them, and she can't exactly use her Challenging Mark on a swarm. Sheesh. Why is it always bugs? 

As well as her Diplopia Armor works in dark places, there's too many bugs to avoid every one of them striking at her. When one collides with her back, she grimaces. Another hit like that might break through the padding on her cuirass. Enough of this. If the bugs eat magic, then she'll give them a little lightning feast! Focusing her magic through her war hammer, electricity from the weapon buzzes loudly and jumps to travel down her arm and wreath her body in protective lightning. All the bugs swarming Astrid suddenly get jolted by powerful electricity and fall to the ground, twitching with lightning arcing off of them. She promptly smashes them while they're down. 

"How are ya holdin' up?" she calls, looking back at Kvasir and Wit.

---

Boomer Buckler [1/2 hit preventions]
Diplopia Armor [-1 hit prevention]
Lightning Armor [post 1/3] - anyone who touches receives lightning damage + limb goes numb for 1 post

Don't get bit, don't get bit... Staying out of harm's way is easier said than done, especially in a bug infested glade with nothing left to light the way. Skidding through the damp grass, Wit nearly crashes into Astrid's metal companion, just barely keeping his foothold as he scrabbles to find the medical kit she mentioned. Unfortunately, the fabled kit is more than a little bit outside of his narrow reach; Wit is very small, and Charles towers well above his tiny stature.

Jumping quickly proves futile, and a quick glance back at the other two tells him that there's little time to waste. Between the flashes of lightning glinting off of iridescent wings and the growing stains of horrible, horrible red, simply asking for a boost is out of the question. He's going to have to climb.

Wit steels himself, gripping to any form of hand or foothold in his attempts to scale the metal man, struggling to hoist himself high enough to reach Charles' back box, barely managing to keep from sliding right off the smooth surface. He reaches in, blindly feeling around for whatever a medical kit feels like until he touches the edge of a box-- a box! His fingers graze over a strip of bandage, and in one quick, graceless movement, he seizes the kit and hurtles himself to the ground.

Whump!

Kit clutched haphazardly above his head, Wit scampers over to Kvasir as fast as his little legs will carry him, shrieking as the chittering insects dive downwards to take a bite out of the glowing leaves atop his head. The first bug narrowly misses, bouncing off of the box's surface, the next quick to take advantage of the opening-- its sharp mandibles shearing through his delicate leaves with ease.

"No bite! No bite!!" he cries, hauling out a roll of bandages with all of the finesse of a child unravelling a toilet paper roll, frantically waving them at Kvasir in an effort to help staunch the blood.

...Astrid has a point.

She stands resolutely, lightning dancing around her tiny form, singing off the edges of a metal carapace as she dares the insects to fight her, dares them to test their mettle against her steel-bound resolve-- meanwhile, Kvasir is barely keeping his footing, his energy slowly ebbing away with every moment he spends with his connection to Solaria's light severed, blood still seeping down his arm from where sharp mandibles had dug into it. He is hardly weak-- he has an archer's arms, the power to end and save a life in his hands, but he is hardly stalwart enough to shield anyone here.

And yet, it's hard to accept the idea that he should let a twelve-year-old girl stand between him and further injury-- it's hard to accept the fact that she is built for the front lines, that she'll emerge from this unscathed, and that he should be content to let her fight. She is a child, and he is an adult, and there is no part of him that can possibly be okay with letting a girl this young play the part of a shield, but...

...but he really doesn't have much of a choice, does he?

Another sigh falls from his lips as he lifts his bow up once more, taking aim at one of the bugs trying to flee from the static charge of Astrid's armor, loosing the light-imbued arrow as quickly as he can, before the insect can flee too far. A sunlit arrow pierces through it, sending its remains to the earth, and he prepares to set loose another when he hears Wit's panicked squealing, feels the root child rushing to his side.

The offer of bandages brings a small smile to his face, and he's quick to kneel down and take the roll of bandages, quick to wrap them around his open wound as quickly as he can. He doesn't have time to worry about handmade ointment or pastes or poultices-- this will have to do, for now.

"Thank you, Wit," he says softly, keeping the strain out of his voice as well as he can before he glances back to Astrid. "We're... holding up fine, Miss Astrid."

Wit’s tiny cries, desperately trying not to become the bugs’ next snack, catches the attention of the hellhound who’s been snapping bugs out of the air at every opportunity. With a mighty bike, Spicy Pawsage charges over and rips a bug beelining for Wit out of the air, gnashing it in half with his teeth then turning and releasing a gout of flames toward a thick swarm rushing Astrid. The hound and the child sure are a sight to behold.

Meanwhile, Charles is unable to fully process what is going on and simply stands with beetles pinging off of his metal form, almost entirely unscathed.

A bright streak of golden light pierces a bug beside Astrid’s shoulder, and she glances back. Okay, they’re alright. Wit’s with Kvasir, and the man can bandage his injury. And with all the bashing and smashing, and being an actual bug zapper, the swarm has thinned out significantly. They might be free of this soon. Even still, it’s hard to hit the bugs without also being struck herself, and Astrid’s armor has taken a bit of a beating from all the dings and pings.

“I’m sick of these bugs!” Astrid hefts her hammer, and rather than releasing a violent swing, she draws her hand through the area, a frosty mist following its surprisingly graceful movement. Suddenly, a frozen wind rushes through the area ahead of her, coating leaves and trees with a thin layer of frost – but more importantly, freezing the flying arthropods. Wingbeats slow, legs lock into place, and within a few seconds, many of the remaining swarm fall to the ground.

Quickly jumping into action, she and Spicy Pawsage start taking out the grounded bugs. Hopefully, this is the end of the swarm…

---

Frost Flash
Lightning Armor [post 2/3]

Bandages, yes. Good. That should keep the red in so that the hurties can't make Kvasir die to death.

The swarming horde seems to be thinning at the hands of Astrid and her beasts... With any luck, the meat beast will eat its fill of the twitching insects. It's become clear now why Kvasir trusts this metal-clad powerhouse of a little girl, with her crackling armour and strange magic-- she was full of weather and beast-lore. which makes him nearly almost not quite afraid of her. In fact, Wit might have gotten lost in the novelty of such sights, if it weren't for the skittery-chittery circumstance they were currently in.

Not wanting to stray too far from Kvasir's side, Wit pounces on a low-flying bug, scrabbling as he wrestles it to the ground. Without weapons, he can do little to fight them off, save for savaging them apart with his sharp little teeth.

Another one attempts to dive-bomb where he stands, nipping at his already torn leaves and eliciting a raspy hiss. Much to his distress, the tiny light in his hand dims, flickering weakly before sputtering out. His eyes dart around blindly, twisting his head to see the occasional flash from Astrid. Where did his star go? Why did it leave..?

"Owwwie, ohh no," he squeaks, rolling back to his feet, covered in dirt and ichor. "Wh...where go?!"

Despite the growing number of thoroughly squashed insects littering the forest floor, Wit still feels a prickle deep within his roots, a deep sense of unease at the sounds of clicking and buzzing still echoing through the trees. The bugs have made themselves quite at home in these woods... There are so many-- they can't have just appeared out of the aether. There has to be a nest.

"Buggiesss... Too many, nee' find! Kvass'rrr--!"

Without his own medical kit readily available and the magic flowing through his veins neutralized, all Kvasir has at the ready are the roll of bandages in his hand and his teeth.

He bites into the gauze to sever the segment he's wrapped around his wound from the rest of the roll, not wanting to use up the entire thing, and carefully sets it aside somewhere he'll remember to go back to it later so he can return it to Astrid's med-kit. It's always been a bit of a tricky feat to tie off a bandage with one hand and without the proper tools, but Kvasir has been a medic for as long as he can remember-- however much that means-- and he has made do with less in the past. Makeshift measures are measures all the same, and this will do for now.

He stands on slightly shaky legs, still unaccustomed to the feeling of moving a body without its magic surging through it, but pushed forward by adrenaline and the desire to do what he can to protect the children by his side. He knows, still, that Astrid is a capable fighter, one armed and armored to the teeth, and that she is definitely proficient enough to handle herself, but he cannot silence the voice that tells him that letting her handle this alone is wrong. And Wit-- well, Wit is so young, and he hardly has any weapon beyond what nature gave him, and--

And he's... saying something about... a...

...a nest. A nest!

Of course! This many insects would have to have a nest!

Kvasir straightens his spine, renewed energy coursing through him at the knowledge that there's a way out of this-- that they can stop this endless swarm. All he has to do is find the nest-- he squints through the shadows of the trees, through the chaos, through the darkness--

There. [1]

He's not sure what he's thinking as he runs across the path through the shadows over to the wriggling mass that forms the insect nest, melded into one of the trees as though trying to become one with it. He isn't sure he's thinking anything at all. He just reaches for his bow, pulls the string back, pure light surging to form an arrow once more, and lets it loose--

And as soon as the shell of the nest falls away, fried husks of some of the bugs falling to the ground as well and even more of them turning to him, Kvasir realizes he's fucked up.

He isn't given much time to react before the survivors of his attack rush toward him, more mandibles digging into the skin of his arms, his legs, tail, chest, sapping more and more energy away from him until he no longer has the strength to stand. He falls forward, barely cushioning himself with his arms, clinging tightly to his bow as he watches the bugs fly onward toward Astrid and Wit, intent on making their own last stand.

"Th-THaaat... should be the last of 'em," he slurs, voice losing its steadiness. "Go get 'em..."

---

[1] Night Vision

The light in Wit’s hands dies out, and it takes Astrid a second to adjust to the darkness, but she does nevertheless. Glancing around, she makes out Charles’ form with his glowing red eyes and the tiny form of Wit looking around helplessly for protection. And then there’s Kvasir who, after a flash of magic, has fallen to his hands and knees and seems like a perfect snack for the bugs. Astrid quickly takes stock of the situation and realizes that this last wave of bugs comes swarming from the nest itself, and Kvasir’s made himself the target.

“GO GET ‘EM?!” Astrid shouts with the most exasperation she can manage in this time of mild panic. “GO GET ‘EM?! MISTER. KVASIR. WHAT THE HECK WERE YA–” A bug flies in her face, and she smashes it between her hammers with pure anger and annoyance. “–THINKIN’?!” Every bug slamming into Astrid meets lightning sparking off of her form and falls to the ground, joining the hundreds of other dead and crisped buggies on the forest floor. Good for the detritivores. Like a tiny juggernaut, she stomps through the forest toward the downed doctor.

“YA COULD’VE POINTED IT OUT. I COULD’VE GOTTEN IT.”

She’s had it with these bugs. Letting out a scream of frustration, she rushes over to the nest and smashes the rest of it for good measure. The remainder of the bugs come right for her and clatter into her. She doesn’t even care about the dents in her armor at this point. Those can be buffed out. At this point, she just wants to be done.

Another flurry of flashes, zaps, and smashes, and the buzzing has finally died down.

“MISTER KVASIR!” She hasn’t really been mad before, but well, now she’s got a doctor with no access to magic, and she’s got herself with no healing magic. “Avasha above!” The lightning coming off of her stops sparking, and Astrid comes over to sit on her knees beside him. “What the heck. What the heck??”

She takes a deep breath and looks for Wit. “Where’s the little fella? Wit? Are ya okay? There ya are.” With a slow hand, Astrid reaches out for Wit to try to help him find her. “Come here, I don’t have no light magic. We’re here little guy. Looks like ya got some of 'em good. Nice job.”

Then she looks at Kvasir again. Her voice is softer, almost dejected, and completely wiped out. “What are we gonna do with ya?”

---

Night Vision
Lightning Armor [post 3/3]

The world is a tumultuous blur when the nest bursts open, the swarm whirling through the area, a cacophony of clicking and buzzing, their ire focused on the one who dared to damage their wretched hive. Wit whips his head around in horror as they overwhelm Kvasir in a barrage of sapping bites, leaving him collapsed on the dewy ground.

Any higher reasoning that Wit may have developed in his short life immediately goes out the window. The buggies ate up his home, stole his glowy, and now, they're killing the fluffy man-- killing him until he dies to death.

He opens his mouth, screeching a sharp, piercing sound like a wounded animal.

"eeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEE..!!"

Wit sprints, blindly tumbling to all fours and bolting as fast as his tiny limbs can scrabble through the dirt.

He barely hears Astrid's yelling as she smashes through the oncoming insects. The sounds all muddle together with the rest of his senses; the acrid smell of scorched chitin engaged in a hateful quarrel with the subtle ozone scent of Astrid's lightning still fizzling in the air, the taste of fear and adrenaline on his tongue, the snicker-snack of mandibles against leaf and root from the bites of bugs he can no longer see to fend off.

"Nu, nu, p'ease," he hisses, hoarse and ragged. The little plant barrels full force into Kvasir, grasping around for the roll of bandage. With rapidly weakening hands he unrolls it uselessly, pressing it into whatever spots he can reach. All the while, he continues to squeal for help. From strong, brave Astrid-- From the metal man-- From anyone, anything that might be able to hear.

"EEEEE! EEE!!"

Dying is a lot louder than Kvasir thought it would be.

He always figured it would be a quiet process, something akin to falling asleep, to wandering downstairs while a party goes on overhead– a slow fading out, noise drifting away like dandelion seeds on the wind, everything going away gradually until it’s gone for good. Perhaps it’s too gentle of a vision, too optimistic of one, but it’s how he’s always imagined it, regardless.

Turns out, dying can be as simple as laying in a pile of useless limbs on the dirt while a twelve-year-old girl screams at you with all the passion of the burning stars, the droning buzz of frying bugs undercutting every word, each metal-clad step she makes across the forest floor as thunderous as a storm. It’s a very, very loud affair– loud enough that it makes Kvasir’s ears twitch and flatten against his skull, a swift and logical enough reaction for him to deduce that he is, in fact, not dying. At least not yet.

Considering the pain, it’s almost a pity.

“‘M sorry,” he manages, voice still slurring. He tilts his chin up, blinking slowly as he manages to look up at Astrid, pausing a moment more before managing to speak again. “Didn’t think. Just… shot it. Sorry.”

His head lolls back against his arm, almost sleepily– hell, a good nap sounds wonderful right now–, but before he can even think about closing his eye, there’s the feeling of Wit barreling into his side with all the force of a cannonball off a ship. Kvasir lets out a stifled groan before moving to sluggishly lift an arm, trying to move his hand on top of Wit’s head to soothe him.

“‘S okay, Wit,” he says, forcing a little smile. “I’m good. Allll good. No need to cry– if there’re any more bugs, Astrid’ll… get ‘em.”

With that, he glances back over to Astrid– who is… clearly extremely tired herself. Kvasir can’t blame her; she’s given her all handling the brunt of the work, and he hasn’t exactly done much to make the emotional labor much lighter. And any more worry over him won’t exactly make things much better for her– ah, he’s… certainly put them in a situation. How wonderful.

“Mm… should have something in my alchemy bag,” he mumbles. “Check ‘em– oh–! There’s… rainbow potion. Bunch of colors. That one. Drink it.”

If Astrid has to smash a hundred more bugs, she will. It’s a better way to let off the steam of watching this grown ass adult make what she considers to be a very stupid decision. Things were fine! They were well enough in hand! She was a perfectly good walking bug zapper with enough armor to take at least a few more hits. But noooo, the adult had to be the adult.

Spicy Pawsage barks behind her, having taken one of the few remaining bugs out of the air and chomped through its wings with his teeth. He is a proud pup.

“Thin’s are calmin’ down, Wit,” Astrid assures. “We got ya. Ya can hide between us if ya need ta. An’ aye, I’ll take care a’ anymore bugs.” Shaking her head, she looks through Kvasir’s alchemy bag through the various potions, amazed at how many he has because she has… none, she thinks. Finally, she finds the one rainbow one and swirls it around, watching the colors refuse to mix. What the..? With a disaffected shrug, Astrid downs it, and for the briefest moment, her vision is full of all colors of the rainbow. No matter where she looks in this dark forest, it is beautifully surreal.

Last time she felt like this, she’d had some particularly weird food out of a trash can in Sky Peak.

It quickly fades, only on the edges of her vision, a side effect, she thinks, or some indication that the potion’s magic has taken effect. The strangest thing is that Astrid can feel the magic’s potency and somehow has at least an idea of what she might be able to do with it. After focusing on it for a moment, Astrid musters up the magic from the potion and presses her hand against Kvasir’s chest. An explosion of rainbow energy with sparks of electricity burst out from the point of contact, and if those bugs didn’t mess Kvasir up too badly, hopefully heals him.^[1]

---

1. Kvasir’s Pride of Solaria - Massive Healing

The world is going dark. Dark as the sky if the stars all winked out at once. Rather, the world is just dark. Without the comforting glow of his friends and unable to conjure another glowy, all Wit's glassy black eyes can see is dark dark dark, with nothing left to light the way. The crackling sparks of Astrid's skillful smashes are the only thing cutting through the night, illuminating the world just enough to see flashes of everything that's happened.

He squints in the dark, catching barely visible glimpses of Astrid rummaging through Kvasir's bag as the majority of the bugs lie sparking and fizzling on the ground.

"Eeee..." he squeaks, trying to focus on the words being said. Astrid's words sound nice and brave, gentle even, like a summer afternoon. This is good. Kvasir's words sound slurred and wiggly, like the sky after a storm. This is not good. That's not what the fluffy man is supposed to sound like.

"Otay, otay," Wit rasps, not understanding a word of what's being said. "Tank 'ou..."

Wit presses his forehead into Kvasir's hand, his shredded leaves crinkling against his palm. As Astrid presses her hand to Kvasir's chest with a flashing rainbow of sparks, Wit holds some of the unrolled bandage against whatever part of Kvasir he can reach with his tiny, tired hands, in an attempt to put the blood back in. The little root burrows into Kvasir's side to hide from any more buggies, uttering the occasional raspy peep as the chittering dies down.