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| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/FourthMovement|Fourth Movement]]
| + | #REDIRECT ADanceOfAngels |
| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/DanceOfAngels|A Dance of Angels]]
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| − | == Army of Dead Iron ==
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| − | The Hound howls.<Br>
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| − | The Boil howls.<br>
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| − | Casting off its chains, it howls.<br>
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| − | The Exalted can feel it... they can feel the magic of Iron Tears’ words, making their emotions stir. Like the heat of a forge, his word the hammer on iron... and the rain making it rise as steam, leaving a sharp, masterfully forged blade.
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| − | And now, this blade turns to its target. The people take a moment to decide... but are given this moment as the gangs and the workers jump on the nearest opressors. Everything is already going as they decide to pitch in. And so, small sparks become a bonfire.
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| − | They remember Iron Tear’s words to them, before...
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| − | '' “As it starts, the Captain will take the Garrisson troops and rouse them. This should be right after the declaration... and we are trusting her leadership ability, as this will not be told to all but her most trustworthy underlings before my pronouncement. We can never be too careful.” ''
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| − | '' “The gangs will strike first, most probably, as they are already outlaws anyway. The Howling Alley Pack on Red Lantern and the Silver Queens on the Ashen District. This shall give us a good part of the city that will be decidedly ours. And of course... the criminal armies. Barr possesses what passes by a very good militia, with some very good individuals, and Leonti does trade in bodyguard and military slaves in a small scale. Both together possess quite some power. And the Industrial District...” ''
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| − | '' “Well, I am here. We are here.” ''
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| − | And, sure enough, they hear the workers rushing out of their factories, calling out their god’s name and wielding any and all forge utensils they could get their hands on. They bash the Black Cloaks on their homes, they hit those who decided to be loyal to the undead, they cover the backs of their army. The Exalted hear the steps of the many automatons, and soon they jump over the houses, teams of three, three of them stopping near Iron Tears, the rain making a strange sounds as it hits them... just as many workers pull a cart out of a building, demolishing its wall, and bringing Chains of Duty, Iron Tears’ Warstrider, to his owner.
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| − | Behind them, on the Industrial District, cries are almost victory. In front of them, on the Ashen District, and throughout all of the city, it is battle. It is bloodshed.
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| − | The Exalted stand there, the blood of Dragonblooded at their feet, a lampost falling from Selina’s touch, the street broken under her feet, steam dissipating under the squall, a small militia cut to pieces on the street in front of them... the howl fades.
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| − | | |
| − | Revolution begins.
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| − | '''Seventh Moon:''' It was beginning. Moon watched with a growing grin and a quickening heart as the city came to life around them, shattering that damn hush that had been hanging over it with a scream of life. They were swarming everywhere and he could already hear the distant shouting from other parts of the city as people took to the streets.
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| − | "A'ite!" he growled, turning back to face in companions as he slapped a fist against his open palm. "Time ta sho"
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| − | Selina. As he saw her again with unclouded eyes, he realized only then the transformation she had gone through. The monster she had become. If it were anyone else, he might had been a bit more surprised. By now, he was used to her doing things that creepy him out.
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| − | " aw darlin'" He breathed, shaking his head. "You got real fuckin' ugly gotta that ain't a look that's gonna stick around."
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| − | '''Kanti:''' Kanti opens her eyes after the pheonix fades, the pain of the bite and the sting dulled by the wood essence she pours into herself, the wounds closing to ugly purple bruises on her red skin.
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| − | ''Another fight like that and I will be exhausted. ''
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| − | She stiffens as she hears the howl, the declaration of the hunt, until she realises it is not her that they hunt, but the dead ... and then she hears the breathing.
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| − | She slowly turns to face ...
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| − | to face mistress...the terrible, powerful monster she has become, Kanti's breath quickens again then, her eyes widdening, the voice rolling over her skin, vibrating through her body
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| − | | |
| − | ''she will not hurt me. ''<br>
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| − | ''she promised she would not hurt me. ''<br>
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| − | ''she won't hurt me? ''
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| − | Kanti forces herself to look relaxed, forces herself not to show fear, holds her ground.
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| − | '''Selina de Windia:''' Selina levels a cold look at Moon, looking at his wounds, then sheaths her sword for the moment, walking over to one of the more intact corpses quickly. She needed to get at them before the life faded away. This fight was not one where she could afford to waste a single bit of essence.
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| − | "Neither of you will do that again." She growls, picking the Terrestrial's dead body up, opening her fanged maw to tear off some of the flesh. The Pale Angel drank blood...the Dark Angel devoured her foes. Quick chew, and a swallow. "Not rushing into combat. You will die if you do that against the Parishioner. You will follow my lead." Another slashing bite, stripping meat off, gulping it down as quickly as before. "I am not dying here because you ran off like giddy children into combat and left me exposed."
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| − | '''Kanti:''' ''...mistress is upset with me... ''<br>
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| − | ''...and she is ...eating people .... ''
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| − | Kanti shudders in revulsion, though she tries to hide it, staring as she swallows the flesh, not able to look away...she speaks quietly, her voice shamed.
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| − | "I am sorry my lady, it will not happen again."
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| − | '''Seventh Moon:''' Alright, ''that'' was a little much.
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| − | '''''"Fuck." ''''' He grimaced as the Dark Angel began her little snack, turning his head away. And he'd let those lips get around him? "Yeah, ya mind doin' that around'a fuckin' corner or somethin'?"
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| − | | |
| − | Shit that was nasty...
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| − | "And run off what?" he demanded, glaring at the ground rather than watch her chewing on a corpse. "It's how shit goes. Kinda expect my gang ta keep my back if I hit right. Same as same, y'know? Back the fuckin' play, not worry 'bout who makes it."
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| − | He looked up finally, turning his glare on her no matter ''what'' she was sticking in her mouth. "that, I ain't gonna stand around arguing this shit with you right now. My cities burnin' and I need ta get in on it. Now you fuckin' done makin' a mess? Can we ''go''?"
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| − | '''Selina de Windia:''' "This ain't a fucking rumble in the street, Moon. And this lot was ''chaff. ''" Selina finishes, feeling the body grow too cold to gain anything from. She wipes her mouth on a cleaner piece of cloth lying nearby before tossing the material aside. "You pull a bum rush on the Parishioner, and you're gonna be '''dead'''. You want to know how many people I've killed who did that? How many ''Chosen''? Want their names -- see if they were almost-legends you guys heard of before they did that in front of me? The deathknight we're fighting? He's like me -- maybe worse. You make a mistake, it'll be your last."
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| − | "You think I want you lot to be fucking dead cause of that?"
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| − | '''Fiona:''' The Solar wiped some of the sweat and droplets out of her forehead, staying away from Kanti's burning flame and the steam rising about her... and her face was more shocked with Selina's habits than Moon or Kanti could possibly be.
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| − | "But... Dark Angel... they did do well. You wasted them so quickly... and Moon... seems less hurt every passing moment!" She said, turning her eyes away as soon as she could.
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| − | '''Relentless Gears:''' ... And all around, the same reaction is seen.
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| − | From the workers, from the Relentless Gears who come as their God's bodyguard, from the people taking the streets...
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| − | Awe at their victory.<br>
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| − | Terror at Hyrokkin's apetite.
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| − | '''Selina de Windia:''' "If this lot did that to him when he left himself open." Selina snaps, undertone of draconic growl in her voice. "Think of what a bloody '''deathknight''' or his bloody bodyguard will do. To any of us!"
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| − | '''Seventh Moon:''' "Yeah, fine, whaeva." Moon threw an arm through the air, as if trying to physically throw the words aside. Impatience was making his leg twitch, made him yank on the shirt that clung to his chest with drying blood. "I won't fuckin' rush 'um again, if it makes ya happy darlin'. But I ain't gonna sit on my ass doin' nothin' neither. Back me and I'll back you, a'ite? Now let's fuckin' ''move''."
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| − | | |
| − | Great.
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| − | He glared as the crowd of workers and gearheads came tumbling into the plaza. Just what the needed; an audience. "Hey!" he turned and whistled at them sharply, to take their attention away from Selina. "Listen up and we're gonna get through this, a'ite?"
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| − | '''Iron Tears:''' The Iron God of the Boil was then already within his Warstrider. Like a great beast, Chains of Duty stepped out of its wheeled plattaform that took thirty men to move... and each of its steps rocked the ground.
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| − | Towering above them all, Iron Tears' voice came, the hammer-on-anvil noise that echoes on the distance... "There are... more than just the black cloaks. The city patrol... is fighting with them. And I can feel... many of them. Vermin. Monsters. Demons."
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| − | "Materializing on Creation, more than I had ever felt before. I had no idea a sorcerer could call on this many. My raven..." He looks at Selina... and she can feel a rough tenderness and a tinge of disapproval through just that. "Take care. Moon.. protect Kanti. There are more, powerful like the Lions."
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| − | '''Selina de Windia:''' She nods, not saying anymore. It was something she needed to get out for days -- weeks, now. Ever since Spire, especially. But until now, she'd never really wanted to rock the boat enough to tell him 'your tactics are gonna get you fucking killed'. Well, she had now. Figures she had to become the Dragon to muster that up.
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| − | ''It makes me a bitch queen equal to the Pale Angel. ''
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| − | '''Relentless Gears:''' The crowd stops, even in front of the monolith... to listen at Moon.
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| − | Relentless Gears, weapons in hand, factory workers, hammers and pipes in hand... and the automatons.
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| − | All stop and heed Moon's word.
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| − | '''Seventh Moon:''' He had their attention, even above Iron Tears Now what to tell them. He dug through his head for a picture of the city, as well as he knew it. The district. Rusty said they needed to capture the districts. There were only two easy ways in and out of the industrial - back door and front door. Just like a warehouse. The dead fucks weren't likely to come out of the mines, so that just left
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| − | " All a'you gotta head ta the gates! No matter what. No matter fuckin' ''what'', ya gotta keep hold of those fuckers, a'ite? That's the only way those dead shits are gettin' in here and longer ya keep this place open, the more time there's gonna be for Barr's people ta get your families out. Leave that up ta them, cause that's all those smuggler fucks are gonna be doin' for a while."
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| − | He put on a ragged grin for them, motioning up to the tower of steel beside him. "Ya heard what Rusty said. They got vermin, monsters, and demons guess no one told 'um we had those in the Boil for a while now. Guess maybe they ain't never been ta Whiteshield, neither. 'ccording ta them, we ''are'' a buncha vermin 'an monsters." He turned away, staring down the street towards the distant rise of the iron gates that cut the district off from the rest and his companions. Flashing them a tooth grin, he lowered his voice. "Lets go show the fuckers how much worse the Boil breeds 'um."
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| − | '''Selina de Windia:''' "The demons are a distraction -- I'd bet money on it. You can't summon enough to control the city." Selina adds, crossing her arms over her chest. "The real force is gonna be coming out of a shadowland soon. Maybe more than one. They'll have necromancers, or I'm a whelp. Those bastards have to die, hard and fast."
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| − | '''Fiona:''' "There were already necromancers here, weren't there? The ones we just fought?"
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| − | She looks around... trying to access lines of power with her second sight. "Now, where would they go? Be with the commanders to raise the dead whenever they win?"
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| − | '''Selina de Windia:''' "Yes. They'll use the city as fodder. Turn your own against you."
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| − | '''Seventh Moon:''' "So, we gotta kill them and kill the demons?" Moon shrugged. Seemed simple enough, if that was going to be there part of the job. "A'ite, so lets go find 'um."
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| − | '''Relentless Gears:''' The Relentless Gears let out a cry as they run to the Gates... only a few standing with Iron Tears.
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| − | Along with two of the Automatons. Fight still raged within the Industrial District... but quieting. Everywhere else, it just became louder.
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| − | '''Seventh Moon:''' "Ya got it covered here, Rusty?" Moon asked, looking up at the towering spirit. Funny that. Not long ago, he'd have half pissed himself to be standing at the foot of Iron Tears like this. Now, it was probably the most normal thing left in the plaza.
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| − | '''Iron Tears:''' From the back of Chains of Duty, he takes the Maces. Each one greater and heavier than any of the people beneath him. In his shoulders, two essence cannons lock on. Steam begins to raise where the rain touches him. "I will manage. The Industries have to know I am here to protect them. It shall not take long."
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| − | | |
| − | * Selina sees... at the graveyards of the city, she sees a concentration of necromantic energy, loose underworld essence twisting madly....
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| − | '''Selina de Windia:''' "The graveyards." Selina growls urgently, looking to the others. "They're trying it already. We have to stop them."
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| − | '''Seventh Moon:''' "Sheeyit..." Moon snarled, knocking his fists together eagerly as he broke into a trot. "Fuckers don't waste any time. Let's go then..."
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| − | "Good luck Rusty!" he shouted back over his shoulder. "Don't get killed, a'ite?"
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| − | Then, he was gone, dashing out of the plaza with the hopes the others were behind him.
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| − | '''Iron Tears:''' "I am lucky." He responds, and despite being as the Faceless God, the voice holds a tinge of the man who drinks with the factory workers past midnight... "The only one who could kill me is on my side this time. You take care too, Lord of the Underworld. And take care of them."
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| − | The maul goes through a house to hit one of the black cloaks. A patrol falls over them. Covered in the blood of the workers. Iron Tears hits them again, dominating the battle while barely trying, "Go!"
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| − | '''Selina de Windia:''' "Kanti, come with me." The Windian says hurridly, then bounds off after the Lunar. Not flying...yet. She won't give away her position that easily.
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| − | '''Kanti:''' Kanti comes out her introspective trace and follows after Selina, trailing fire and iris blossoms as she goes.
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| − | * Fiona rushes behind Kanti, dodging droplets of water as they leave the city square... the dust from Selina's destruction finally settling, heavily, under the rain....
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| − | '''Visages:''' As they get to the Graveyard, the rain is stopping.
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| − | But there is no sun overhead. Instead, just a sky that feels even darker now that the clouds are not so close to the ground. So dark it even feels fake.
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| − | The graveyard itself is... poor. Litted with scrap-iron monuments or grave markers that are little more than rough-hewn stones with names chipped in them. The now-nameless tombs of miners and dead workers with chipped names eroded by time. Only a few big tombs, remains of a brighter past... old and imponent.
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| − | Those, the Ghost-Blooded did not approach. Not, while all the many nameless graves, one over another, had such an endless supply of raw material...
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| − | Five of those Necromancers, they see.... and thirty... forty... many walking dead, more by the minute....
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| − | '''Seventh Moon:''' Barreling around a bend in the path to the graveyard, Seventh Moon skidded as he ground to a sharp stop, kicking up a cloud of dirt in front of him. There was a wall of undead flesh spread out to meet him.
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| − | Well, fuck. They ''were'' fast.
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| − | He took a few steps back. Not making much of a pretense at stealth, not when he was glowing like one of Vivian's gowns, but just to put some space between them. He said he wouldn't rush in.
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| − | "Got some shambling shit movin' around up here darlin'" he grunted to Selina as she came up, jerking a thumb towards the wave of walking corpses. "Wanna eat a path through these or somethin'?"
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| − | '''Selina de Windia:''' "Those things are dead and have been for awhile, I don't eat gross crap like that." She says, looking at them. That many undead...those people would be a bit lower on essence than they should be to fight them. Best to kill them, though. The walking dead could be cleaned up later.
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| − | "Wait a moment, this might be a setup."
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| − | She looked about, to see if they were being covered by anyone hidden off in ambush. This was a rather obvious setup situation, after all.
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| − | '''Kanti:''' Kanti reaches onto her back, securing the spear and drawing forth the longbow she had found earlier. She doesn't shoot without mistress' command of course, but she waits.
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| − | '''Selina de Windia:''' "Can't see anything, but be ready. As for them," She jerks a finger toward the crowd. "The necros die first. The rest of them are all wheat for the scythe."
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| − | As she says this, Selina grasps her scythe, the weapon growing to fit her hand.
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| − | '''Seventh Moon:''' "Whateva ya say hun..." Moon rumbles, dropping into a crouch against the road, like a dog eager to play.
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| − | '''Visages:''' One of the Ghost Blooded sees the animas. Out of the trance of necromancy, he turns and points to the Exalted. The shambling dead begin to go towards them... walking out of the graveyard... while his brothers work. Fifty now....
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| − | '''Selina de Windia:''' "Hold on a minute, though." Selina purrs, sultry rumble underlying the tone as she readies a ball of crackling energy on her right hand, holding the scythe by the left. The ball grows -- rapidly, in explosive surges. It has such power that the ground beneath it begins to crack, fragments sucked up into the orb. "Time to try out my new trick on them. Feel free to do for any who survive."
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| − | Then she releases the hungry and thrumming blast, crackling void widening as it leaves her hand, streaking into the graveyard, cutting through the ranks of the dead to engulf the necromancers. Her magic further suffuses the beam, keeping the necromancers from dodging as easily, the pull of Oblivion hindering their every move...
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| − | '''Visages:''' The Path is cut clean, the graveyard marred for generations to come.
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| − | The Ghost-Blooded go screaming to oblivion... exploded together with so much of the graveyard.
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| − | A firework of void in wings of darkness.
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| − | But the shambling dead approach.... still too many... lifeless eyes burning with their last orders....
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| − | '''Kanti:''' Kanti tries not to be staggered by the devastation wroght by her mistress' bolts, aiming at the last necromancer standing, the one who directed the zombies towards them, the flames swirling around her lighting the scene.
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| − | She released the arrow on an easy arc, the black feather flights trailing a lazy line of embers behind it.
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| − | The arrow hits the necromancer in the chest, painlessly, soundlessly slipping in.
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| − | The green curtain closes.
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| − | '''Fiona:''' Fiona watches as they act...
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| − | Selina, a destroyer unparalled, bring destruction, killing so many, so ruthlessly...
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| − | Kanti, poetry in movement, ending lives with mercy and beauty.
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| − | She was weakening, as well... her will not strong enough to hold on for too much longer. The teleportation, the obsidian butterflies, and now the spell she had cast around them - leaving a soft mist at their feet, dancing in the droplets around them... to protect them. She watches as they destroy... and Kanti hits... and kills one more.
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| − | '''Seventh Moon:''' Already burning like a third eye on his brow, Moon's caste mark seers into a blindingly cold light as undead began to move towards them. His nose crinkled as they came. Fuckers smelled like arm-pit that had been slathered in ass and left in the sun. This was gonna be the most disgusting fight he'd ever been in
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| − | And suddenly he hit the dirt as a torrent of cryptic energy blew past the side of his head.
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| − | ''"Fuck!" '' The exclamation was almost a whoop of excitement for once though. That was some trick. Looked much nicer ripping up deaders than it did live folks, too.
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| − | As soon as the girls made their move, Moon tore off the ground in front of them, dust arching after him as he chased on the tails of the arrow and the energy blast. His shadow passed over what was left of the ranks of the dead like a dot of darkness then grew suddenly large. Plummeting down into the middle of walking dead, the heel of his boot crushed in the head of the corpse bellow him. His knee bent in the seconds before the zombie fell to the ground and launching him back into the air as the corpse tumbled back in a spray of gore. Taking leaping strides, he ran across their heads and shoulders like skipping across stones in a pond, leaving pits in the carpet of zombies as he smashed in heads and shattered limbs. Selina hadn't left him many to dance across up the path, just plenty at the top, so he twisted and bounced back and forth across the road and dove into the swarm of undead milling around the graveyard.
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| − | "Hey guys." He offered conversationally the zombies as he came down on one last corpse, crouching on it's ruined head while it teetered for balance. Stepping casually to the ground as it fell, Moon shook the hair from his eyes and looked around at the ring of dead surrounding him. That was all that was left? Sheeyit not even a good rumble. At least he was finally in his element.
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| − | Ebb and Flow glistened as the light of his cold anima burned into their engravings, frosting over the congealed blood clinging to them and flaking it off into the air like bloody snow. Reaching up to flick a spot of gore from his cheek, he flashed the zombies a fang-filled grin. "What's shakin'?
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| − | | |
| − | === Meanwhile... ===
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| − | All around the microcosm of the Boil...
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| − | The Teodozija ran through the Red Lantern district, each step burning one of the symbols for the Smiling Lover. Behind it, far behind, came the Black Cloaks, cold steel on their hands. Just mortals, in front of them, just the idiots of the pack. Just mortals....
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| − | Just mortals that make up a barrage of frost rifles that fire very short iron spikes.
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| − | "So, Kinny... we just kinda... press the trigger?"
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| − | "You aim first, dumbass. You aim first." He said with a smile as they all vanished in vapor. ten spikes of ice-cold iron crossed the air, going through the demon with the strength of an Exalt's Daiklave. With a whimper, it crashed down at their feet.
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| − | Kinny walked foward, loading another spike and pointing to the dying creature.... "Die, monster. You don't belong in this world." a final shot. A final death for the Teodozija's corrupt Gospel. A tooth taken from the Jade Lion's remains, loaded within, pointed to one of the approaching Black Cloaks... and another one down.
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| − | Along with the last of the Everfrost. No steam to launch anything anymore...
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| − | "Now it's Kinny Lionslayer, boys." A smile, taking a club full of shards of black glass.<br>
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| − | Iron Tears' little present for Moon's second-in-command. <br>
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| − | Weighted as a club, deadly as a claymore.<br>
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| − | They were just mortals.
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| − | "Just like a big ol' brawl. Just we got bigger pricks now. So do 'um. Enjoy it."
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| − | <br><br><br><br><br><br><br>
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| − | They were only mortals.
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| − | The miners of Shaft 27B were outmatched even before the battle began and they knew it. What good were pick-axes and shovels against the solid wall of death marching towards them? They had already watched the barricade before theirs crushed without even pause, gang-members and several of the Relentless Gears swept aside in a red-wave of steel and Essence. A wave that was now coming for them.
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| − | The first man began to back away from the hastily constructed wall of furniture. The undead loomed closer, a red-eyed shadow commanding them from the center.
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| − | The next man began to slowly move back. Seeing the beginnings of a route, the nemessary hissed it’s troops to go faster. Still living Black Cloaks pulled out ahead of the formation, silently drawing blood-stained blades.
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| − | As one, the miners broke. One or two stayed, screaming for their friends and neighbors to come back, but they were throwing down make-shift weapons and dashing as fast as they could towards the dubious safety of the mines. In a crawling swarm, the Black Cloaks hit the barricade, ripping it apart for the heavy-armored troops who followed.
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| − | | |
| − | … and then the entire front rank vanished in a peel of thunder. Dust and rubble billowed off of the foundry wall where the cannon balls struck home, the remains of the Black Cloaks splattered around them frozen to the wall with a fine layer of rime.
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| − | | |
| − | A wail unlike anything the city had ever heard echoed off the foundry walls as it came teetering into the street. It was like a decorative iron coffin mounted on a pair of giant chicken legs. A leering, demonic visage cackled at the undead from it’s headless torso. Two stunted arms hung at it’s sides, thick around as a man’s chest. One ended in a clutching three-fingered hand, the other in the glinting edge of a grimcleaver. Smoke chugged noisily from a stack on it’s back, billowing out a purple-black cloud of filth, while a thin-necked whistle breathed out innocent white steam.
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| − | | |
| − | The undead had suddenly found a reason to pause.
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| − | | |
| − | Riotous Amber Theurgist was barely more than human himself, but inside the Contraption, he could be a lot more.
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| − | | |
| − | The recoil from the cannon blast had ripped them clean off the shoulder plates, ruined brass still steaming on the ground behind the Contraption. Even as he pulled levers and thrust down peddles to command the Contraption to take an ungainly step forward, Amber made a note of that. Snub-barrels for the next proto-type. Less wadding. A tinker’s work was never done.
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| − | | |
| − | Sweat poured down his face and plastered the clothing to his body. Inside the Contraption was cramped and stuffy and dark. He could only see out of a narrow slit in the front armor, but it was enough to see the ranks of the undead begin to recover their initial surprise and come swarming towards him. Metallic ringing echoed through the inside of the body as the first wave of hastily fired arrows attempted to soften the way for the infantry to come.
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| − | | |
| − | The God-blooded thaumaturge grabbed the chain by his head and yanked down. The Contraption let out a deafening whistle, steam pouring out of the little copper mouth. Twisting back on it’s axis a moment, the Contraption spun forward and lunged it’s claw-hand out. The nemessary he grabbed for jumped back contemptuously from it’s limited reach… then hissed in angered-shock as the heavy fore-arm slid forward along a greased piston and slammed into it’s chest.
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| − | | |
| − | Thick, clumsy fingers closed around the unliving creatures torso. Amber pried leavers and twisted knobs and the arm lifted upwards, the forearm spinning, making a pin-wheel out of the nemessary. Steam howled out of the whistle again and the forearm rose a little higher on the piston, then shot back down, shattering the nemessaries spine against the butt of the thick metal bar with an audible crunch. Blades and spear points bounced off the Contraptions thick skin as it stumbled forward a step and spun the hissing, twitching creature around once more before the arm swung down like a blacksmith’s hammer. Paving stones crunched and bloody dirt flew into the air as Amber dashed the nemessaries head into the road.
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| − | | |
| − | Well, that was one down, but there was still a lot of work to do. Amber sighed and gears ground together as the clunky armored suit straightened up and readied to attack again.
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| − | | |
| − | A tinkers work was _never_ done.
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| − | <br><br><br><br><br><br><br>
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| − | | |
| − | Iria Lumanti is not Mortal.<Br>
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| − | God-Blooded.<br>
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| − | Holysword.<br>
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| − | | |
| − | The Captain of the military garrisson of Whiteshield on the Boil. The one who tamed the city. The one who rescued it from chaos, hardening herself to be even harder than the hell she walked into. She went to strike big. To carve her name there. And she did.
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| − | | |
| − | And that is why she was holding a Daiklave in her hands.
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| − | | |
| − | And why the Nemessaries walked up her home.
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| − | | |
| − | She looked at the Daiklave once more... a gift from the king, from his great stash of wonders, from the Burning Moon Vault. A gift for saving Whiteshield by taming its needful hell. A gift a most beloved king handled her, personally. She let it slide off its sheath and the golden light reflected upon her face, making her remember... what Whiteshield once was. The Nemessaries were at her back, she knew. The door opened, and the figures clad in dark metal stepped through. “Iria Lumanti. Put down the blade. By order of the Sheriff, of the Parishioner and the Shining One, we came to take you. Please, do not resist.”
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| − | | |
| − | The light reflected on her face... making her remember brighter days. Making her remember her older sister... making her smile as her first thought was ‘that bitch’. That beautiful, wonderful bitch. She loved to fight with her. She loved to loathe her. She loved her. She thinks of her sister’s husband, whom she had desired to be hers’ for a time... before she resigned that was not the life for her and took so hard a path. Her niece running on the grass of her sister’s state while the bitch parrotted her how much her life was better and sunnier than in the Boil.
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| − | | |
| − | How it annoyed her.<br>
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| − | How she missed it.<Br>
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| − | How she wished they were dead.<br>
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| − | | |
| − | For after seeing the Vestal, seeing them dead was so much better than the alternative... so much. She let a tear drop from her left eye. A luxury she never let herself indulge in the Boil. For her bitch of a sister. For her cute niece. For Whiteshield.
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| − | | |
| − | “For you. For Whiteshield.” She whispered as she unsheathed the blade. Outside, her regiment could see only the golden light and the nemessary bodies flying out of the closed windows. She had tamed the Boil. And that, at least, she would not let them take away.
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| − | <br><br><br><br><br><br><br>
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| − | | |
| − | | |
| − | Gregor Lowensen and Marcos Belenas were not mortals.<br>
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| − | God-Blooded, they were the most trusted and capable lieutenants of Captain Iria.
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| − | | |
| − | And so it was just fitting that they stood there, past the walls of the Garrisson, on the narrow streets leading to it from the Clock Tower, from the Wall, from Highlane. From where they would come. They knew the Thorn’s reputation. Commando assaults, and that was exactly what they would do here. Within the city, the God-Blooded could just wait... knowing how many would come. Knowing they had no chance. And yet, they waited...
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| − | | |
| − | Only they knew. Only they, and ten others, knew of Captain Iria’s meeting with Iron Tears. Knew of their stand. The Captain would tell the others. She would convince them. She was irreprensible. She would tell them, and they would follow.
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| − | | |
| − | And Gregor and Marcos knew that, as they waited, to give her time. As they waited, to cover every narrow passage through the claustrophobic streets of the Boil... spartans waiting to hold something much stronger than them.
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| − | | |
| − | The narrow paths working for them, as they had before.<br>
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| − | It was the Boil. It was their home.<br>
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| − | Theirs to protect.<br>
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| − | | |
| − | Knives and arrows made their arc through the air, and with blinding speed, covering one another’s backs, the God-Blooded stopped them. The black-cloaked figures came for them, ten, twenty... and they were just two. Two on a street just narrow enough. Two of many on the right streets. Crying the name of their city, crying the name of their leader, they threw their lives for the Boil.
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| − | <br><br><br><br><br><br><br>
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| − | | |
| − | Kadel Kurodona looked at the revolution, and smiled. Then, he went back to the Kirin girl. How she struggled, bound as she was... and he made sure every moment of struggle gave her sensations as painful and ecstastic as he could manage, biting in her flesh as she brought some things close, and pushed others away... and still she struggled. For how long, he wondered... as he continued to paint that wonderful site.
| |
| − | | |
| − | It was then that he heard the noise behind him. They had come. Black-cloaked figure behind him, blades on their hands. “Lord Kurodona? We are here to escort you out. The Parishioner wishes to speak with you.”
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| − | | |
| − | “Your whispers have been aimed at the wrong people, it seems.”
| |
| − | | |
| − | The Glass Spider looked back at the men on his door... then back at the squirming unicorn-girl. “As you can see, I am a little busy right now. As you should be. I would appreciate if you left now. And closed the door on the way out.”
| |
| − | | |
| − | The swords received iron grips, “We will leave with your head then, Spider.”
| |
| − | | |
| − | They did not even see what hit them.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Leonti did not only give the Spider pleasure slaves. He also supplied bodyguards in those trying times. And with the promise of freedom, those barbarians were as ferocious as ever with their rocky axes. In moments, the Nemessaries were just pieces on his floor. Kurodona sighed. He would need to call his regular people to deal with those barbarians later, but truly, they did not have such... vigor. One which they wasted, of course. Unlike him, who kept painting... blending the chaos outside with that on the unicorn-girl’s body and feelings to create a truly ''unique'' piece.
| |
| − | <br><br><br><br><br><br><br>
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| − | | |
| − | | |
| − | Leonti did not have the same luck.The slaver sat on a reclined chair, watching the devastation as a boy pleasured him, trying to bring the usual feel of... detachment, he had while dealing with the Guild and slaves. He had rented Kadel but a few of his guards. He had a large, elite bodyguard. After all, in his trade, many would want slaves he wouldn’t sell, and a single free slave was a threat of retaliation... he had an elite bodyguard.If a few would protect Kadel, of course they would protect him...
| |
| − | | |
| − | But he was not so lucky.
| |
| − | | |
| − | They knew what he had. ''Exactly'' what he had.
| |
| − | | |
| − | His bodyguard fell to but four ghostly creatures, as the Iron Shades came. As the Iron Raitons went through his body, bringing cold oblivion, the last thing he heard was the venomonous voice of betrayal.
| |
| − | | |
| − | “Mr. Barr sends his regards. And tells you the Boil will not tolerate sick people like yourself anymore.”
| |
| − | | |
| − | Somewhere on the distance Fyodor suffered the same fate as the Boil’s slaver lord. The Iron Shades stepped into the slave vaults, seeing all the barbarians and hapless mercenaries in chains, all the beautiful men, women and children in ropes...
| |
| − | | |
| − | “So?” Asked one of the Iron Shades. The other did not answer, simply threw his daggers, shrieking through the air as they undid their chains. And begun to get weapons from a rack and throw to the soldier-slaves. “If you help us, you are free. If you stay within the Boil, you remain slaves. They need living help, we do not. Make your choice.”
| |
| − | | |
| − | And so they did, arming themselves, hungry for blood of the Boil, hungry for freedom.
| |
| − | | |
| − | “Smart. And the pleasure ones?”
| |
| − | | |
| − | ”Lord Avian tells us the New Sheriff wants to play at Iron Tears. Very well, let us humor him. Give him the women to parade. Kill the men and kids.”
| |
| − | <br><br><br><br><br><br><br>
| |
| − | | |
| − | | |
| − | Seven Jeweled Skull Rabbit is a Ghost-Blooded. Storyteller, he used the arts of Pandemonium of the dead not to frighten, not to mislead, but to tell the children of the Boil stories of wonder, romance and heroism, illustrated by his heritage. One he used, and did not let run himself. Clad in long black robes, he had gathered all of his audience... and all others he could, and now watched the fights through the veil of illusion. He held the young ones close to him, and made more illusions, trying to calm them, telling them all would be alright. Sheltering the future. Caring for the future, as their world burned around them...
| |
| − | <br><br><br><br><br><br><br>
| |
| − | | |
| − | Nathaniel Barr looked over his window in Highlane... at the instant chaos that took his city. The old man passed a hand through iron-gray locks, not once contesting his choice. To side with the winner. The lord of all smugglers on the Boil, he knew all strengths, to know exactly the place to slip his cargo through. He had seen the Parishioner. And he knew the man had no weaknessess. Father of Crows had been quick to mobilize the Boil... and the Parishioner had been quicker in his plan to cripple it, even before he knew of the uprising. The death warrants for Leonti, Fiodor and Allyster were already signed, just waiting the right moment. The teams were already assembled. The Sheriff already at his side.
| |
| − | | |
| − | They had not expected Iron Tears to move so soon. And he knew all the warrants were made urgent on the moment he did. Iron Tears managed to force their hand before they were ready... and they could tell they had forced his’ as well. Both sides were already ready to strike... and the Parishioner would win unfailingly if Iron Tears had not struck first. Made a target out of himself. And so, what he saw in his window happened... as both sides threw aimed, well-prepared strikes at each other at once.
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| − | | |
| − | Lighting a cigarette, he wondered how long it would last. And how much would be needed to be smuggled in afterwards. If he thought much of Father of Crows or his subordinates, that did not show – as he had always been with the strong, the power behind the Boil. And that one had a new name, now.
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| − | | |
| − | ----
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| − | | |
| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/FourthMovement|Fourth Movement]]
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| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/DanceOfAngels|A Dance of Angels]]
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