|
|
| Line 1: |
Line 1: |
| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/SecondMovement|Second Movement]]
| + | #REDIRECT ADanceOfAngels |
| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/DanceOfAngels|A Dance of Angels]]
| |
| − | | |
| − | == Festival of Blood and Triumph ==
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Celebrant of Blood:</b> The chains come out of her arm, uncoiling like spirals of falling blood, then forming complex patterns about her. She was ready for battle, at last. Her half-covered face looks at where the boy was, covered in smoke... and where her pet was, his human form collapsing to the ground.
| |
| − | | |
| − | All around her they burned, her legions, the dead shambling uselessly, all those around Vorpal in flames.
| |
| − | | |
| − | She looked at Cael, snarling as she gestures... and the air in front of her fills with the words of Dead Gods.. They wrap around Cael, dark light, hot, suffocating... snuffing out his light... and, with a tug, breaking it in an explosion that only his Exalted body protects him from, taking away all his light.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "Kill him. <i>Now</i>!"
| |
| − | | |
| − | "He is just one man. A Diplomat, a rogue... he <i>is no match for our army</i>! He is no match for <i>warriors</i>!"
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Cael:</b> Cael let out a breath as he felt the protective magic blown away from him, and then he laughs at her words, leaping backwards from the ghost infront of him, white cloak flapping red in the flames below him as he lands, scribbing more sigils against the dead on the air, twisting them about his hand before casting them towards the ghost that cut him before, the ghost vanishing in a cloud of essence.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "One man I may be, but I am one man chosen by the Sun." the voice isn't loud. None the less, it reaches her.
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Dead Winds:</b> Another of the dark spirits is consumed by golden words.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Hundreds of years in memories, of the air spirit's walks on the Underworld, of the deal with the Celebrant that has turned them into spirits of the Underworld, of the Void, of its dark storms and Dead Winds... are snuffed instantly, tore apart by the Binds, his words closed by Cael's. The others close their eyes momentarily, but are not affected, aside from the fact that they move with rejuvenated strength, following their fallen leader's determination, striking once again to all of Cael's vulnerable points....
| |
| − | | |
| − | The last one with the chakrams moves them again... and throws a volley, three of them in succession...
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Cael:</b> And so the retaliation comes.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Cael is ready for it.
| |
| − | | |
| − | His body shimmers and twists, moving like a dream, partially dissolved into the kanji he hurls, the claws nor the shuriken finding any purchase in his flesh.
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Celebrant of Blood:</b> The battlefield burns.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Smoke fills the air to the point where there is no way to see afar... the great golems barely more than dark shadows on the smoke.
| |
| − | | |
| − | An army of undead burns with a rotting, dead scent of embalming fluids burning... giving unease to the living, and an odd sense of celebration to the dead.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "And where is your sun now? You are on the thurible, little man. Feel the incense all around you. You are on the thurible, shaken for my lord. You have gone too far."
| |
| − | | |
| − | <i>Great lord, give me strength.</i>
| |
| − | | |
| − | <i>For existence. For the Underworld</i>
| |
| − | | |
| − | <i>Come light or darkness, give me strength.</i>
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Cael:</b> The thurible, eh?
| |
| − | | |
| − | Cael skips along an uneven line of falcons as they drift above the smoke and the haze.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "The Sun is above as always."
| |
| − | | |
| − | He starts to write another essay on the sky, precise characters formed with exquisite beauty.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "The Sun is in me."
| |
| − | | |
| − | He finishes the essay, the words hanging about him, the world slowing as he gathers them up around his hand.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "I will go further."
| |
| − | | |
| − | He releases them in a cascade, elaborate phraseology twisting around itself as it flows into her, cutting her skin, cutting her flesh, cutting her soul.
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Celebrant of Blood:</b> She stands there, looking at him with a calm expression.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "You will go no further."
| |
| − | | |
| − | She says, spreading her eyes in benediction.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "The sun shines not here, Windwraith. The incense covers the sun. Your protector. Your soul. And through me, it shall bring about your fate."
| |
| − | | |
| − | She closes her eyes, shines in dark red, blood light, and lets them come.
| |
| − | | |
| − | And it is not enough.
| |
| − | | |
| − | She fortifies her anima, darkness uncoiling around it, fortifying it... stronger, stronger, stronger...
| |
| − | | |
| − | Not strong enough.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Skin cut, joints and soul veins servered, she feels her body lose all that kept it together even before she feels the embrace of oblivion upon her.
| |
| − | | |
| − | She had no choice but to remain on the defensive, and that was the outcome. Cut from any escape routs.
| |
| − | | |
| − | No chance.
| |
| − | | |
| − | <i>Just... one... man.</i>
| |
| − | | |
| − | Darkness takes her.
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Cael:</b> Pearched above the battlefield on a piece of origami, the quicksilver falcon nods his head, the brilliant white quills writing another tale into his anima.
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> The first compulsion in Vorpal's mind when she sees the Celebrant stagger and fall under the barrage of golden kanji, is... dissatisfied anger. The Ghost-Blooded had wanted the Abyssal's blood - it could have been her who struck that killing blow. It <i>should</i> have been her! The Celebrant had been the next target for her hunger, for her fury, the warm, delicious, living thing she had wanted to kill and kill and kill --
| |
| − | | |
| − | <i>Get a grip,</i> snaps the general, the cold and calculating strategist within her mind. <i>Don't let it slip now!</i>
| |
| − | | |
| − | Blood pounding in her temples, her chest heaving with every deep breath she draws through clenched teeth, she forces the beast to settle down. <i>Calm, calm - it's going just as planned.</i>
| |
| − | | |
| − | It is no easy task, not with the stench of pain and death - the twin scents of the battlefield - so heavily in the air. Not while she also needs to keep her body moving, running as quickly as she can towards the spot where the Celebrant has fallen. <i>It's not over yet. Keep moving - think, think!</i>
| |
| − | | |
| − | With the effort of her will, the beast recedes and the red haze begins to lift from the edges of her vision. Her mind, clear once again, moves the pieces for the next stage of the plan. "The <i>blade!</i>" she shouts up at the Cael without slowing down. "<i>Get the blade and the boy!</i>"
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Dead Winds:</b> The Corrupted Little Gods see as she falls.
| |
| − | | |
| − | They look at the man they could not touch.
| |
| − | | |
| − | But he was weakened now.
| |
| − | | |
| − | He <i>had</i> to be!!!
| |
| − | | |
| − | One jumped, ephemeral above the smoke, coming at Cael, affecting creation barely enough so his fluttering robes make small ripplngs into the smoke as he comes down... five points of five palms above his heart. Five points of five palms, and it would be done.
| |
| − | | |
| − | The masked being shows no outward sign of changing. But behind the mask, he utter a prayer to his god, his new superior, before exploding in a pentacle of blows to the Windwraith!
| |
| − | | |
| − | Below, one of the ghosts takes his leader's chains, while the other channels his Chakram with burning pyre smoke,twirling it on his hand and throwing it, the true form of it, unarmed on his effort to destroy the chosen of the sun...
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Cael:</b> Not that there was much time to celebrate.
| |
| − | | |
| − | He sees the rage on the body of the ghost, the conviction, the need for Cael himself to die.<br>
| |
| − | <i>I cannot allow you that victory.</i>
| |
| − | | |
| − | The quills descend, writing out a path for him on the air, his body fading into the kanji as the exotic plumes scribe him into the air. He flows along the treatice in the smoke.
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>War Machines:</b> Even through the smoke, Cael sees the machines concentrating once again, their dark souls and their dark chains. Two of them left, just enough to close their chains on him once again... and he only had half a moment of advantage.
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Cael:</b> "Deal with the ghosts that are trying to eviscerate me then!" Cael shouts as he takes note of the warmachines turning to bear on him again...
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> "<i>Done!</i>" she hisses without breaking her stride, her voice too quiet to carry all the way to the Solar. The moaning soulsteel in her hand bursts in a bright pale light. Closing in to the two ghosts remaining between the Ghost-Blooded and the dead Abyssal, her boots scrape against the scorched soil as she twists her body into a whirling motion. Her blade flashes in a blinding arch - again, again, again, one cut for each stride she takes, one fluttering afterimage for each slash made. The sheer speed she had gathered during her sprint gives her enough momentum to carry her through the leaping steps of her dance, allowing her to slip without slowing past the two ghosts and towards her final goal.
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Cael:</b> Cael does the only thing he can.
| |
| − | | |
| − | He steps off the falcon into thin air, landing on one of the more bedraggled ones that had fallen.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Another drop, another falcon.
| |
| − | | |
| − | And then the ground, which Cael hits running, flowing along the uneven soil with every movement grace, towards where the prince fell, towards where Ainerach lies.<br>
| |
| − | He ignores the ghosts, ignores the dark spirits, ignores the zombies, just runs for where the glow fell.
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Battlefield:</b> The flames spread even farther.
| |
| − | | |
| − | The dead, and a great army of now-material ghosts tries to touch Cael... to no avail. He simply flows past them, coming to where the blade fell... far away, the Zombies spreading a circle around him, his anima still glowing with power... just a little of it.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Cael arrives there, in the Bone and Soulsteel skeleton of the great necrotic monstruosity, nestled between the wrappings that held the flesh of a hundred sewn together.... the Dead Winds rush towards Cael, but are stopped by Vorpal's charge - the three that are left, circling around the Pale Angel menacingly...
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Cael:</b> Cael leaps up into the beast, his anima flickering with uncertain silver light as he climbs up to the sun's blade.
| |
| − | | |
| − | His muscles <i>heave</i> with an effort that seems far beyond their capabilities, as he pulls the great sword free, holding it in his arms as he starts to move towards the Prince, casting kanji to clear something of a path before him.
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Alexander:</b> Cael finds Alex getting up amidst the smoke... hurt, cuts along his face, blood trickling.... trails of blood like tears coming down his face, down a limp arm... like tears if tears were so solid, trickling slowly, with a viscuous feel to them that implies something to healthy... and so dire.
| |
| − | | |
| − | His aura burns brightly amidst the smoke, keeping the mindless dead away, those that are not burnt. Away, Cael sees the large pyres, the ring of fire that mantains Vorpal almost isolated from the rest of the army in a calm eye of a fiery whirlwind...
| |
| − | | |
| − | But a few of the war ghosts manage to approach Alex, cutting through the disbanding, walking zombies on fire, closer to the wounded prince, behind him, the fierciest of them, fighting hard against the terror of the fair boy's anima, as he turns to look to his rescuer, "Cael...?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Cael:</b> Cael scribes and hurls a small volley of sysmbols against the dead at the closest to the prince, flowing out of the massed hordes of zombies, Ainrach over one shoulder.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "Well, I thought it was about time I checked up on you, saw how you were getting along ..." he says with a soft grin. "You did leave this lying around though ... I thought you might want it." He offers the young Zenith Ainrach. When he's taken it in his good arm he nods. "You did well. Those warmachines were an .. unpleasant suprise." The speach is slightly clipped as he flows like blood around the attacks of the ghosts.
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Alexander:</b> He chuckles, coughing a little bit of blood, "Why... how considerate of you. I would say something... about not coming sooner, but you were... a little entangled... before."
| |
| − | | |
| − | He takes the blade, hearing the ghosts consumed by golden flame behind him... "The Celebrant...? Her creature?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | The ghostly soldiers, moliated in many visages of terror and death, sword-dance around Cael, to no avail as the Kanji burns them...
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Cael:</b> Cael grins "I wouldn't have minded the interuption, truely." a trio of Kanji flow past the prince, spinning off one another to destroy three zombies.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "She is dead. She handled my ... critisism of her character poorly. The beast is dead too, under the Pale Angel's blade."
| |
| − | | |
| − | Cael flows like blood away from the claws of the ghost.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "Now, shall we go and take out those other warmachines?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> Three corrupted spirits, tied to Oblivion, well-trained in the arts of war. Three dark godlings, personal bodyguards for an Exalted commander. Three dark godlings, against a Dusk Caste Abyssal.
| |
| − | | |
| − | They are fast and fearless. They fight as a group, one warrior complementing the moves of the other. Together, they could take down a company of ordinary war ghosts thrice their numbers.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Their opponent, on the other hand, is alone, most of her Essence already drained in the battle against the tainted Lunar.
| |
| − | | |
| − | But still, thanks to the Black Queen's Vestments and the Charms at the Pale Angel's disposal, there can be only one outcome. If there was something Vorpal had learned from the two dead Dragon-Blooded who had defeated her not too long ago, it was not to underestimate ghosts - she does not make the same mistake this time.
| |
| − | | |
| − | The three spirits do not make it easy, though. They never do. Spirits do not grow weary, they rarely slow down, almost never give up. By the time Mournful Kiss cuts through the last of the Death Wind, tearing ethereal flesh apart and draining the remaining Essence into the endless void within the soulsteel weapon, Vorpal is breathing heavily. Her own Essence almost spent, her body aching from several blows that had not quite reached her flesh only thanks to the near-perfect protection granted to her by the Vestments.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "Damn", she mutters, staggering backwards and straightening herself up, quickly scanning her surroundings for more immediate threats to deal with. Fortunately, there are none - the flames are serving their purpose, holding the hordes of the dead at bay... for now.
| |
| − | | |
| − | <i>No tarrying. Better get moving.</i>
| |
| − | | |
| − | Stopping only to scoop up the chains one of the ghosts had taken from the Celebrant, the Ghost-Blooded turns and seeks out the corpse of the dead Abyssal herself.
| |
| − | | |
| − | <i>So this was the last Chosen to have ever been in the Bishop's presence, eh?</i>
| |
| − | | |
| − | She works as quickly as her aching body allows her to, keeping one eye on the dead at all times. Any trinkets the Celebrant had possibly dropped during the fight, she collects to safety. With a sigh, she then circles her arm around the other Abyssal's torso and hoists the corpse onto her shoulder, much like how an ordinary mortal would do with a half-empty sack of sticks.
| |
| − | | |
| − | <i>I suppose this was the last time we had the element of surprise with us.</i> Standing up straighter, the Pale Angel allows herself another moment to catch her breath. She turns in a slow circle, scanning the endless ranks of the Abyssal army all around her. <i>The Bishop <b>has</b> to take us seriously from this point on.</i>
| |
| − | | |
| − | Finally, she settles for the direction where she believes the two Solars to lie. The flames would not last forever - it was time to get moving again.
| |
| − | | |
| − | <i>And back to the front lines.</i>
| |
| − | | |
| − | She takes another deep breath, and begins to move, first a walk, then a trot, then a full-paced run.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "RrrrrrrryyyyyaaaAGGGGHHHH!!!"
| |
| − | | |
| − | One of her hand supporting the weight of the dead Abyssal, the other hefting the crimson-stained claymore, she rushes headlong into the fray.
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Alexander:</b> He smiles. It had been for a good cause. They had done it.
| |
| − | | |
| − | No matter how much he hurt, the Deathknights were over and done with. Only two machines remained.
| |
| − | | |
| − | <I>So close...</i>
| |
| − | | |
| − | <i>I cannot believe it, we...</i>
| |
| − | | |
| − | "Keep me covered, please. This will be done soon enough." And then he flies again, slower, but determined...
| |
| − | | |
| − | The same chains of ghosts that came for Cael before come to him, but as a lance of light, he just goes through them, leaving a trail of golden light, a direct line going from Cael... straight to another one of the war machines.
| |
| − | | |
| − | <i>A pyre for you, oh golden lord.</i>
| |
| − | | |
| − | <i>A pyre for you, my sun-father.</i>
| |
| − | | |
| − | <i><b>A sacrifice in your honor, oh unconquered!</b></i>
| |
| − | | |
| − | <i>You who grant us power, you who grant us passion, you who grants us the will to fight and<b> win</b>! Take this offering, as we burn those who would desecrate the world you shine upon!</i>
| |
| − | | |
| − | Light explodes once again, and from the remains of it, comes Ainerach, flying like a raptor across the battlefield to take the other.... and come back to Alex before the golden lights have even finished to burn both of them.
| |
| − | | |
| − | It goes on...<br>
| |
| − | The flames rage.<br>
| |
| − | The remaining war ghosts fight a loosing battle.<br>
| |
| − | In time, all the zombies are aflame, or scattered.<br>
| |
| − | In time, the few Ghosts left are little pockets, or have run away.<br>
| |
| − | In time, as noon ends and twilight comes, they stand over the corpse of an army.<br>
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Vorpal:</b><i>...Phew.</i>
| |
| − | | |
| − | She drudges through the fields of death, bones and charred flesh crunching under her boots with every step. Mournful Kiss is red and dripping with gore from hilt to tip. The hems of her cloak are torn and partially charred, blood has splattered over her white skin.
| |
| − | | |
| − | <i>Nothing like a little brawl to get you back to shape...</i>
| |
| − | | |
| − | The acrid stench of smoke heavy in her nostrils, she pauses, lifting her gaze to inspect the results of their handiwork, the destruction they had wrought. This army had never been alive to begin with, but now, at least, it had been laid to rest for good. It was impossible to tell how large part of the enemy had managed to escape the slaughter, but at least the backbone of the army had been torn apart before the united force of Solar and Abyssal blades.
| |
| − | | |
| − | <i>And the list of my sins keeps on getting longer, eh?</i>
| |
| − | | |
| − | Oh well, she decides with a mental shrug. Nothing she could do about that.
| |
| − | | |
| − | <I>Now, where are those other two...?</i>
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Cael:</b> Cael casts the final kanji of the battle, the the characters entwined into a small Haiku concerning the fall of the Celebrant and her army, the ghost it hits dissolving from the outside in, its essense revitalising Cael a little more. The fight and the movements of the ghosts had lead him to a small rise, and so it was on this he stood, jacket still immaculately white, a corona of flickering sunlight blazing about him, zombies lieing all all around him, golden words still tattooed into their flesh.<br>
| |
| − | <I>So, now it's really over.</i><br>
| |
| − | To the north, Cael can see the walls of Northcove, standing untouched. <br>
| |
| − | To the west, he sees the shape of the Zephyr, shimmering in the sun.<br>
| |
| − | It was good to see why they had fought.<br>
| |
| − | | |
| − | <i>No .. it's not over.</i>
| |
| − | | |
| − | He looks to the glowing prince, and void wrapped abyssal.
| |
| − | | |
| − | <i>Now it's truely begun.</i>
| |
| − | | |
| − | He steps down the hill, gracefully avoiding the corpses to join the other two.
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Alexander:</b> He comes down from the heavens, once again, sunlight exploding around him.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Unlike Cael or Vorpal, he had to work hard to mantain his invincibility, and could do so only for short periods of time. He simply took out a few ghosts at a time, the zombies that could not dare to approach him. But for himself, taking the war machines had been enough.
| |
| − | | |
| − | <i>We... we won....</i>
| |
| − | | |
| − | He stood where the Celebrant's cart used to be, the flames dwindling there already. Looking around, impressive in a pillar of sunlight. Impressive above a broken army, the very image of a hard victory as he sinks his blade on the ground, waiting for the other two.
| |
| − | | |
| − | <i>We won.</i>
| |
| − | | |
| − | <i>We can win, even against so many.</i><br>
| |
| − | <i>I can win.</i><br>
| |
| − | <i>I can have my country back. My kingdom back. My life back.</i><br>
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> Vorpal halts for a moment, shading her eyes with an arm as she squints up at the young prince. Although staring into such a bright light is making her vision to blur with tears, she endures the pain for a moment, her lips curling up into a tight little smile. The boy looked so beautiful, so triumphant, so proud...
| |
| − | | |
| − | <i>Heh.</i>
| |
| − | | |
| − | ...so puffed-up, so full of himself...
| |
| − | | |
| − | <i>I wonder if I looked anything similar after that leading that cavalry charge at the Daggers of Frost.</i>
| |
| − | | |
| − | After a long series of defeats, this probably was his first major victory. Let the boy enjoy the moment. He had earned it.
| |
| − | | |
| − | <i>I, on the other hand...</i>
| |
| − | | |
| − | "Hoi!" Vorpal waves her blood-soaked Daiklave in Cael's direction. Her voice echoes eerily over the remains of the carnage. "Wordsmith! Come here for a moment - I have a task for you."
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Cael:</b> Cael picks his way over the corpses and carnage, picking up speed a little as the Pale Angel shouted at him.
| |
| − | | |
| − | <i>He really does look pround of himself, doesn't he?<br>Thats good. He needed to feel better about himself, to know he could shine.</i>
| |
| − | | |
| − | "Yes?" he asks simply as he comes to a halt before her.
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> "I hope you still have a paper or two left", the Pale Angel says, hefting the Celebrant's lifeless form into a better position on her shoulder even as she speaks. "I need you to write a letter for me."
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Cael:</b> "Well not on me, of course, but a letter I can write for you when we return to the Zephyr. Who will I be writing to?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | He eyes the Celebrant's corpse with some interest, though doesn't ask.
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> Vorpal sighs. "That is a shame. We should hurry, then. I want to leave that letter here, to be found by whoever it is to lead the first army to this field to claim for themselves all the glory for wiping away the forces of the dead."
| |
| − | | |
| − | "Who that would be, I do not know." The Ghost-Blooded shrugs. "Valencia, lords of Gemnel, it doesn't really matter. It would serve its purpose every way."
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Cael:</b> Cael raises an eyebrow. "That letter I could write, though I am curious as to your reason for wanting it to be written."
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> Vorpal chuckles at the Eclipse's question. "To spread fame", she responds. "And maybe earn a jade chip or two. It's moments like this that can really make a mercenary's career to shine."
| |
| − | | |
| − | <i>And the more widely my fame spreads, the more <b>they</b> will tremble in their pretty castles and comfy little manors.</i>
| |
| − | | |
| − | She turns away, to stare absently to the horizon, somewhere in the general direction of northeast.
| |
| − | | |
| − | <i>It's only a matter of time.</i>
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Cael:</b>... an interesting idea.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "As you wish, then." he considers the wording as he he says it. Then he smiles, and scribes a letter on the air, in words of gold that shimmer in his anima.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "To the first who discovers this battlefield..." it begins.
| |
| − | | |
| − | <i>To the first who discovers this battlefield,</i>
| |
| − | | |
| − | <i>My current employers considered it against their interests to allow this army to rampage too freely on your lands. Therefore, my companions and I decided to give a helping hand and destroy it for you. There might still be stragglers around. Make a careful sweeping of the surroundings.</i>
| |
| − | | |
| − | <i>If you feel like giving us a just reward for saving your land, feel free to send any sum you would deem fitting to the Windia's Guild of Mercenaries, addressed to my name. They will know what to do with it.</i>
| |
| − | | |
| − | <I>The Pale Angel.</i>
| |
| − | | |
| − | "There. The words will last long enough, and then they will fade into the breeze."
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Northcove:</b> Through the fading smoke, they see troops coming out of the walls of Northcove... only a little time before they get there, probably puzzled and confused over the fate of the army they had prepared to survive the siege of...
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> Vorpal lifts her eyebrows in what might be impressed manner. "That looks handy. Is it a Solar Charm?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | Then, noticing the approaching troops from the corner of her eyes, she makes a quick gesture with her still-unsheathed sword. "Uh-oh. Never mind, it's time for us to go. Get the boy. He, of all people, should not be seen here."
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Cael:</b> "That is the Empyrean Binds. The words they create last longer when they do not get disruptted by flesh they cut." He says with a small smile.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "Alex, come, it's time for us to leave, to return to the Zephyr, and to rest, I think."
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Alexander:</b> Alex looks to them, smiling as his sun covered form takes a little flight, more like a long, graceful jump to come close to them, lifting some ashes as he lands. "Let us." He says, ignoring the cuts in his face, the body all bloody and tattered, the many blood stains on his clothing for now.
| |
| − | | |
| − | High on victory.
| |
| − | | |
| − | He looks to Vorpal and Cael, happyness filling those eyes... a king and a child at the same time as he regards them. "Thank you. Thank you, for the bottom of my heart. Thank you."
| |
| − | | |
| − | <i>For destroying them<br>For protecting me<br>For showing me it is possible</i>
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Cael:</b> "I think it's fair to say we couldn't have done it without you, Alex." He smiles back at the prince, looking over his many wounds, and the bloodsplatters on the pale angel.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "Now to the Zephyr." And he turns and starts the long walk back to the Zephyr, white coat glowing in the radiance of his sunlit anima, flapping slightly in the wind behind him.
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> The Pale Angel gives a slanted grin, fighting against the urge to respond to that pretty smile. She shakes her head at the impulse. The boy's demeanor is truly beginning to get to her.
| |
| − | | |
| − | <i>Boy's...?</i>
| |
| − | | |
| − | "Aye, I suppose I should start calling you a man, now", she says. Celebrant has begun to slide off her shoulder, and she hefts the corpse once more. She starts after the two Solars, a vision of Abyssal power and pale flames in contrast to their warm, living animas.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "You know, wordsmith", she begins after a long stretch of silence. "There is something I want to ask."
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Cael:</b> Cael turns to the pale angel, looks into the pale flames about her. "Yes?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> "How do you keep all that white clean?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Cael:</b> "Magic."
| |
| − | | |
| − | | |
| − | ----
| |
| − | | |
| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/SecondMovement|Second Movement]]
| |
| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/DanceOfAngels|A Dance of Angels]]
| |
