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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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| − | == The Wrath of the Gatekeeper ==
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| − | Spire.
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| − | Far away, it can be seen, raising from a city, invisible so far away, opaque silver in the diffuse light of the snowy day.
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| − | All paths from Windia lead to the Spire. Too close, too close from Windia. On behalf of their treaties, to stop incoming criminals from Windia - and, in truth, to prepare for any incoming invasions - Spire had its defense grid set high. On the mountains facing Windia and two forts closer between it and the city, Alabaster forts stood brimming with power. Amaranthyne had given them the means of stopping Windian criminals and Hanslanti ships - smaller spirits, many-bladed shields, that stood on silver halos around the forts, godly walkways, patrolling, together with winged guards, lending the Windians' sight an uncanny ability to feel when any trespasses.
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| − | But the shield lady of Whiteshield was dead, and her shield guardians were now nowhere to be seen. And only the remains of wings could be seen of the WIndian guards, ruined and black, above the halos.
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| − | Raitons, on the other hand, patrolled over it.... larger than usual, glinting with steel....
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| − | Over it all, another part of the wonder that was the interference of Gods on Whiteshield, defiled and destroyed, the snow fell... immaculate. And within... sounds. Many, many young voices joined in a choir... as melancholic as the falling snow.
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| − | And under it, looking up, knowing Silver and Pale Angels fought on its twin right now, stood a unit of House De Windia... including the prince of Whiteshield, Alexander Holysword, and the couple Alexsei and Ryshassa Krauser...
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| − | *Ryshassa gazes up at the impressive stronghold, still breathtaking despite the damage it has sustained. The ambiance of the surroundings is that of constant mourning -- soot-stained feathers drifting morosely with the snow, once-pristine walkways now ruined and empty, and from inside, the sorrowful hymns of a choir from within.
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| − | She takes in these details grimly, her heart heavy with the knowledge of loss, yet restless with the desire to heal and make whole what still remains. But before that -- before the healer's gentle hands may soothe the aches of bodies and souls ravaged by war -- she herself must march into war, in the hopes that her skills will preserve the lives of those who would liberate Whiteshield long enough to make a difference. Without a doubt, there would be sacrifices -- there would be deaths. She may very well have to leave behind one mortally wounded in order to aid one who may still fight. Thus was the way of such conflicts, for victory took precedence over individual survivability, and this was not a conflict they could afford to lose.<br><br>But Ryshassa knows this -- all those who stand there now, shivering and stamping their feet in the snow, have already accepted or resigned themselves to these facts. Her gaze shifts to the young Prince, to whom she offers a tentative smile, a slight nod of encouragement. Come what may, they are in this together now.
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| − | '''Alexsei: ''' ''This is it. ''
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| − | He runs his thumb absent-mindedly on the ivory prayer strip case hanging on this belt, gripping his staff tightly as he turns around to the unit accompanying them.
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| − | At the head of the unit stands the young prince of Whiteshield, counterbalancing his realtive lack of experience with heart and conviction. And Ryshassa, standing strong despite the fact it is her first march into war, keeps by his side, the heart of the group in those grim times.
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| − | As for him... He was there to help and advise, and do his best, like the others, to make this operation a success. He knew, however, that war was absolutely unfoprgiving, however - he knew many would fall, many would not be saved. A sacrifice for freedom, a painfully realistic statement that echoed within him, even though he disliked this statement. He knew it was unevitable, but he also knew that it was his reason to be. He would fight by their side, for the idea they all supported, for the liberation of Whiteshield.
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| − | And he would remember those that would buy this liberation with their blood.
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| − | He would see to their salvation, in the next life if not this one.
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| − | '''Alexander: ''' He had been here before, as winged guards flew around in armor of immaculate white.
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| − | He had been here before, as the shield-spirits flew at Amaranthyne's behest.
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| − | 'Know your country', his father had said, 'Know your people'. He had been there, seeing the most magical of all borders of his realm. But now... Raitons flew over the fort as they did above carrion.
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| − | It was dead, as the mountains were dead, as the villages were dead.
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| − | And all he could do was bury the dead...
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| − | Unslinging his blade, Ainerach shone faintly on the diffuse light of the day, as he slowly trained a sunburst in the air before him. And as he did, the snow melted around him. He did not shine his caste mark even as his body begun to crackle with the radiance of sunset. No reason to make the troops with them raise any biases they might have...
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| − | '''Dorian: ''' Dark-Brown hair falls over the shoulders of Dorian Tierney as he looks at the Fort. A masterwork of a plate mail covered the handsome young windian's torso, with his House's sigil above it, and on his hands he had Bracers of Blue Jade, inset with a perfectly clear gem, but strangely, he had no weapons but long knives in his belt on hand. He assessed the Fort with some thrill in him - He had always wondered how a fight with Whiteshield would go. To fight the Raksha freeholds, the Barbarian tribes, nearby nations and shadowlands over land was one thing... a invasion, like old times, was another.
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| − | His eyes begun to glint much like his daiklave as he looked over it.
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| − | "Very well, then. Marshall Silverstar and the Pale Angel should be striking at them about now. They are expecting flyers... so I suppose we should come from below. Two of ours' are capable of blowing up their gate, and all of the Azure Eagles should be able to come from above them!"
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| − | He says, matter-of-factly, turning to the Prince and the couple. "Children of the Sun are superb warriors, or so I hear. You will be with the vanguard on foot, Prince Alexander. And so will you, Ryshassa...and your companion? You should have warned me before bringing strangers into this operation!"
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| − | *Ryshassa straightens her back against the chill wind, shifting the folds of the deep blue woolen cloak draped upon her slender shoulders. She is clad not in her typical layered kimono, this time, but in a snugly tailored coat of deep violet serge embellished at the lapels and upturned cuffs with belladonna embroidery, fastened securely from neck to upper thigh with a double row of buttons. Fitted doeskin breeches bleached a pure white combined with dark fur-lined boots laced to knee length protect her shapely legs, and her hair is woven into a braided coronet secured at the nape of her neck with a violet silken ribbon. <br><br>The healer listens quietly to the de Windia troops' commanding officer as he outlines an attack plan, nodding affirmatively when he acknowledges the Chosen. Her hands, encased by warm white doeskin gloves, tighten upon the golden, serpent-entwined shaft of the Caduceus Curatoris, her constant companion in recent times. "Yes -- I had assumed it would be so, Lieutenant Tierney."<br><br>Her expression quickly turns apologetic as he refers to her companion with no small amount of irritation. "Ah -- well, my husband, Alexsei, I doubt you would remember being introduced..." She shakes her head minutely; under different circumstances, she might even have been amused, but this was no time for such sentiment. "He is no stranger to me, though, and just as dedicated as I am to this cause. We are ready to fight." ''Even myself -- if it must come to that. But only if it must. ''
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| − | '''Alexsei: ''' "Yes, it is indeed unfortunate, sir..." He bows his head to the officer, placing a hand on Ryshassa's shoulder. "We were commissioned by Marshal Silverstar, but I was brought to the fold a bit late, I fear. I am sorry the information you needed did not reach you in time, lieutenant. "
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| − | ''He will forget again. So will his men and pretty much everyone here... And yet, it still must be said. ''
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| − | "You can call me Alexsei Krauser, if you need to call for me, sir. And I am ready and waiting for your orders, lieutenant."
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| − | '''Dorian: ''' He looks at Alexsei a bit puzzled, but... seems to believe it. With a mental note to ask lady Silverstar later on. But Ryshassa's vote for him counted for that much. "Very well, then. Wait until we are in position to march by air and hit them from two fronts before they have time to react! Very well them... move!"
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| − | As he says so, the other unit towards the forest by the Fort, moving like shadows on the snow, taking cover where they can... and he turns to his troops.
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| − | "Hit fast, hit hard, now. I hope you are all ready!"
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| − | As he says so, their group begins to prepare to charge foward by the Snow-filled path...
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| − | '''Ryshassa: ''' ''' ''Ready? I do not know whether I can ever be ready enough. ''
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| − | There are some things she can do, though -- for flesh, after all, is frail, and she without armor of any sort. Her armor is Essence, and in the few heartbeats before her group begins to move, her pale skin is suffused with a resilience far beyond its delicate appearance. Delicate as she may seem, the strength of her spirit triumphs over appearances. She will not easily fall. She cannot, for so long as she still lives, she may still prevent others from falling in her stead.
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| − | With a deep breath, she releases the Caduceus into the air -- holding it would only hinder her movements, now. Her body is tense with anticipation as her eyes rest on Tierney, waiting for the moment to spring to action.
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| − | *The windian soldiers marched foward, quick as birds in flight.<br><Br>They stopped close to the Fort's gates, knowing they had been seen by then. Two of them stopped and begun to wave their hands... and the rest cleared away.<br><br>They were not Dragon-Blooded, and yet they made the gestures of Sorcery as if they were. God-Blooded, graduates of the Magical University of Winlandia. They had energy for little more than what they were doing, but that was their part in this. The waving of their hands brought words and symbols to the air before them, and then they clapped their hands together... and something, something in the fiery colors of a raging bonfire, begun to be born within.<br><br>And then, in unison, both spread their arms. And from them, came screeching birds of brilliant flame, flying close together, as mates as they flew towards the gates of the fort... and then exploded in a most spetacular manner, exploding in dozens of embers, debris, pieces of smoking wood and metal... and many, many smaller birds flying in fire to heavens before being extinguished by the snow...<br><br>Alexander jumped foward them, flaring in the light of the sun, going towards the flames and to within the Fort before the pieces even stops falling...<br><br>
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| − | '''Dorian: ''' Finally... it was time.
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| − | A Tierney, he should have stood with the Durant legions. His uncle, the great, high and mighty Baron Tierney, had ordered him to. But he would not. He was the wind, he was the lighting, and the lighting of Tierney would be the first to strike against the Undead. He wanted this. The Dragons had given him the power to do this. And he was too valuable for any deterrent action that would stop him. And powerful enough to receive field force command after just applying to it. Oh, he was under the threat of being disowned right now...
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| − | But looking at the flames rise, feeling the ghosts materializing above the Halo, monstrous creatures of translucent wings laced with strange entrails, he smiled.
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| − | To protect Windia. To show his prowess on the battlefield. To give them a taste of the Azure Dragons of Windia!
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| − | He so loved this.
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| − | A simple gesture, and an arcane chakram appeared on his hands as he flew above his men, a whirlwind around his form.
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| − | "This is it! Iron Talons, '''charge '''!"
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| − | * Ryshassa pauses as the two raise their hands, her body still poised to move. She is hardly panting -- she may never be as light on her feet as a Windian, but the pace was far from exerting for her.
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| − | The God-Blooded let loose their birds of flame, blasting the gates apart. Without a doubt, the enemy would know they are here. They had to move before whoever waited within could think of how to react.
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| − | As soon as the Prince springs forward, she does as well, her arms sweeping wide to direct the Caduceus in front of her as her boots pound against the snow-packed ground. And behind them, the roar of Lieutenant Tierney's battle cry, urging on the troops...
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| − | The battle is begun. And she deep within it -- a healer going to war.
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| − | '''Alexsei: ''' Taking his cue from the young prince's charge, Alexsei shoots a glance towards his wife, offering her a smile before following in the heir of Whiteshield's footsteps. His pace picks up as he follows the young Solar, his pace picking up considerably with each stride.
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| − | ''This is our chance. ''
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| − | As he runs, he envelops himself in the strands of Fate, wrapping himself about them like he would a cloak. His Starmetal staff held behind him as he heads for the fort, the Mark of Endings appear on his forehead, the Mark of his given duties.
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| − | ''Saturn, grant us the strength we need to overcome... And end the tyranny that takes place here. ''
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| − | Here, in the exhilarating sound of battle, in its powerful aura... His movements naturally flow into another, his body and mind one in the desire and will to take down the opposition... And the Chosen of Endings breathes the very essence that grant him his existence.
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| − | ''I am your weapon, lady Saturn... To end the reign of terror that has gripped at Whiteshield for too long. ''
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| − | ''It's time has come. ''
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| − | '''Alexander: ''' Alex rushes towards the Fort, single-minded, letting loose his rage.<br>
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| − | It was not dead. It could not be dead.<br>
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| − | It had a taint... tainted with something dead and festering on its skin.<br>
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| − | And he was going to burn this festering wound away from it!
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| − | Blinded by holy rage, he goes through the flames as if they were not there, parrying the blows from the other side - from staff-wielding Nemessaries striking him again and again, and being blocked again and again.
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| − | Within the Fort's walls, five of those waited, staffs on hand, bows slung over their backs... and all around the walls, held by meat hooks... something strange, something obscene.
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| − | Meat hooks holding spheres of rotting meat and iron, holding something... something that pulses beneath them.
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| − | Above them, winged ghosts materialized and begun to descend...
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| − | And below it all, the choir does not stop...
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| − | '''Alexsei: ''' With little more than a thought, Epilogue breaks down in his hands, it's smooth surface breaking down with a metallis sound. Tracing the sign of Saturn with one end of the staff, Alexsei places himself in front of one of the assaillants, calling on to the Essence around him to aid him in the coming battle.
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| − | In turn, the surrounding energy answers his prayer, bathing him dully in a violet glow as he prepares his stance for the battle ahead...
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| − | ''Here there is no mercy. Especially with the restless dead... ''
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| − | "Fight me, Creature of the depths. Fight me, that I may grant you the peace of eternal rest..."
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| − | In one swift motion, he raises Epilogue above his head, ontent on coiling the great staf around the creature's neck, not intent on granting any pity to the abominations brought forth by the dark art of necromancy...
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| − | *The Nemessary moves his staff to try and stop Alexsei, desperate as the violet light comes and surrounds him...
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| − | '''Alexander: ''' As always, Alexsei moved too fast for his eyes to follow.
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| − | All the prince of Whiteshield could see was the figure blurring past, the staff entwining around the ghost's neck, and violet light.
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| − | And then, one was down.
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| − | Cracking with Solar energy, with another Chosen at his back, he tried to at least do as much! Three times he moved, at the beat of the choir and the cracking flames. Three steps, three slashes, three oponents...
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| − | All three hit, all three die.
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| − | Ainerach goes through them like a hot knife through butter, and they fall to the ground, shining on pure flames.... leaving only two of the dark warriors close to them.
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| − | *Ryshassa emerges into the blasted Fort, as ghosts descend from above and armed Nemissaries await among meathooks holding... what only feels to her to be abominations, rotted meat and iron, something terrible that should not be.<br><br>As the chaos of combat erupts about her, she suddenly slows and stops. An unearthly serenity seems to sink into her very demeanor, her delicate expression reflecting calm in the eye of the storm. Within, she is chaos -- her heart pounds wildly with uncertainty -- but on the surface, she is pristine, her movements precise and unhurried. Before her, the Caduceus hovers, wary as always for incoming attacks.<br><br>Feet planted firmly on the ground, Ryshassa draws forth the only other weapon available to her -- the silverwillow lyre, strapped to her in its leather case, now resting in her hands, strings taut and ready for her fingers to descend. To coax upon them melodies to stir the frigid hearts of the undead, ghosts who once, in life, lived full, rich and hopeful lives in the very city they now occupied as minions for the sinister powers that killed them. With sorrowful chords wrapped in golden Essence, she wills them to ''feel''. Sadness. Regret. Remembrance of what they once were. What they once had. And blanketed upon this despair, an interwoven sentiment: do not fight. Do not perpetuate this madness. Weep for your losses -- and repent.<br><br>She knows not whether such efforts were folly -- whether these beings, in their undeath, could be stirred in such a way. At the very least, she hoped, her music would draw them to her. Away from the Prince, away from her husband. She was no combatant, but she would willingly take all the punishment she could bear, so others may fight. So others may live.
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| − | *The Nemassaries listen to her song... and stop, dropping their staves to the ground.<br><br>They look at her, dead eyes beneath masks, in... compassion. In regret of their actions. Not wanting to fight her....<br><br>Not wanting to fight.<br><br>the staves come down, as do the weapons of the ghosts that were flying towards them.... at least, those that could hear Ryshassa amidst the cacophony of fire and screams. And those drop their weapons, and once again vanish in the immaterial....<br><br> And as she sings, all agressions around Ryshassa... end.<br><br>Alexsei and Alexander find themselves without targets, surrounded by her music, affected by it in the same way as the ghosts...
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| − | '''Alexsei: ''' The combat mindset dies quickly, and Alexsei suddenly feels... at peace. Music fills the air, and all traces of aggression vanish from him... He lowers his staff, bathed in the serenity of the moment, and he lets himself be filled with the strong sence of peace that slowly sweeps over him...
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| − | '''Ryshassa: ''' Ryshassa's first emotion is surprise -- she had no idea, none at all, that such an attempt would work so well. Too well, in fact. She drops her hand from the lyre as the nemissaries throw aside their weapons and the ghosts disappear in a cold snap of air.
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| − | In retrospect, it should not have been so surprising; she had always been uncommonly talented with music. It felt second nature to her to understand her audience, to fill the silence with the notes that would tug at their heartstrings or inspire their imagination.
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| − | The stillness is unnerving, though, as the golden notes fade into silence. ''Of course... the others...! '' Despair clouds Ryshassa's vision, despair and frustration at her lack of forethought. Of course the others would have heard. It was such a stupid, silly, utterly obvious thing to overlook. And she was so unbelievably ''talented '' -- she thought this now with a liberal dose of bitterness -- that it was impossible for them to resist. She turns her gaze towards Alexsei, so enraptured by calm... her beloved had always loved to hear her play...
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| − | ''How frightening it is, to wield such immense power unwisely. Perhaps -- that is why... isn't it? That's why we Chosen of the Sun are so terribly dangerous. ''
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| − | No. No time to dwell on that now. She had to hurry to undo her stupidity, before any enemies out of earshot came their way...
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| − | '''Alexander: ''' Alexander's blade drops... he almost lets his essence-powered powers wane.
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| − | The holy rage gone, the desire to burn away the undead gone, he feels... at peace.
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| − | Pehaps for the first time in a month... he feels at peace. Forgiving. Whole.
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| − | Dropping his blade, he looks at Ryshassa... "Thank you."
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| − | '''Dorian: ''' Dorian, on the other hand, does not. His soldiers stop and calm down, but he still burns with the desire to jolt his opponents in his lighting!
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| − | But his troops... they all turn down their blades, and he looks... frustrated, as he looks at the battle up...
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| − | "Compose yourselves, damn you! We still have more to fight!"
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| − | Above, they can feel the fight, and see it as the other group comes, fighting the winged ghosts where their voices cannot touch and only the winds reign... and he ascends to it covered in lighting, letting it loose on the ghosts, and his voice being heard by both groups... "This has just '''begun! '''"
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| − | '''Ryshassa: ''' "Alexander..."
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| − | She moves towards him as he drops his blade. Peace? It was her deepest, most moving desire to give peace to those who suffered. And yet... this was not the time for peace. They could not win this battle with peace. She could play until her fingers were bloody, sing until her voice gave out, but the enemy was too many, and too strong. This would be a temporary reprieve at best.
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| − | She, healer and peacemaker as she was, simply cannot allow these people to give into peace. No, not even Alex, not even as he gazes at her with those grateful, relieved eyes. Those eyes. How can she possibly think of doing something like this now?
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| − | But she addresses him, no -- she speaks to them all, the Prince and her husband and the troops, allowing her voice to lift in the practiced form of oration her Dynastic schooling had taught her. And her demeanor now is anything but calm. Her voice anything but soothing. The speech she gives now trembles with desperation, with urgency, burns with the fires of determination. It is not words of peace she delivers them now, but war.
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| − | "Listen up," she begins sternly. Petite as she is, she assumes a commanding air, her expression grim, her gestures forceful. And with each word, she weaves into her performance the convincing power of Essence, giving a weight to her words no pacifist could possibly give.
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| − | "It is not yet time to relax. Look around you! The devastation done to this city has yet to be avenged. Look above! Your commander fights on with the others, against the ghosts of your friends, family and acquaintances, raised against their will to defend their killers! This is not yet a time for peace. It is war, and it has just begun. We fight, so that one day, you may finally rest your weapons down and use your hands and hearts to rebuild what has been wrongfully destroyed. But the city is still occupied! It is still desecrated! You cannot stop and rest now."
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| − | "Take up your weapons!" Ryshassa demands, grasping the Caduceus in her hand as her voice rises, raising it high like a banner of war. It is a gesture so completely unlike her that the fact she is desperate enough to make it is a telling sign of her sincerity. "Take to arms for the sake of all you have loved and lost!"
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| − | '''Alexander: ''' And all around Ryshy, they follow her words. All around Ryshy, they fly to fight the war on the winds above. All around them, they begin to move again... their eyes now burning with outrage!
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| − | Alexander's eyes shine again... Ryshassa's speech was to Windians, but they had few friends or relatives there.
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| − | Unlike Alexander, who gets the brunt of it. His eyes burn. And he turns to within the Fort... "For the sake of their memories."
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| − | *But then... something happens.<br>Alexsei feels it. From the cocoons...<br>Necrotic energy pours from within the Fort, together with the Choir. And they hear.<br><br>'''"Come forth, cherubs, come forth from your womb to shower the world in your grace!" '''<br><br>he spheres all explode, then. Alexsei sees it a moment before it happens, and sees it happening in slow-motion as it does, as the spheres explode in blood and so many... corpses of children, dozens of them sewn with bone wings, claws and teeth, come out, flying towards them... flying towards Ryshy.<br><br>And they all repeat one thing.<br><br>"Mother."<br>"Mother."<br>"Mother."<br>"Mother."<br>"Mother."<br>"Mother..."
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| − | '''Alexsei: ''' He sees them, finally. The haze of calm and serenity is lifted, and he is ready to resume the attack, bolstered once more by Ryshassa's speech. He is about to meet her words with a smile, when...
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| − | He feels them. So many of them, so much screaming... So much pain and anguish, so many ties that should not be...
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| − | And he hears the call, and he sees the great desecration, the twisted hatching of the children of the dark powers of necromancy. His stomach turns, then, in horror at the unspeakable acta that have been commited here... Acts that make no sense, acts he can barely wrap his mind around without completely losing it...
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| − | ''But this world has no compassion, no limits... Sometimes, one must wonder if it has a soul... ''
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| − | His heart clenches in his chest as the corrupted progeny fly towards them... towards Ryshassa. And he hears their single word littany - "Mother." Fighting the urge to be sick, he gathers all of his will to himself, trying his best to separate the weeping feelings inside of him from what had to be done...
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| − | He steps between the children and Ryshassa, coiling Epilogue around him and watching intently. His body is on the verge of trmebling uncontrollably, and when he speaks, his voice contains the echo of a thousand mournful fathers and mothers, halfway between a command and a wail...
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| − | "You have been desecrated beyond any ability to comprehend, and I weep for you with the tears of a thousand losses... But as painful as it is, you must end here! I cannot let you pass!"
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| − | '''Ryshassa: ''' Her tirade completed, Ryshassa feels terribly... drained. She steps back, lowering the staff. Shaken. She could very well have sent these people to die... and up above, she could not possibly hope to help them until they fell from the sky bloodied and battered. Possibly dead.
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| − | But -- she continued to convince herself -- this was what they came to do. Why she and her husband had been recruited into this cause. To fight for the liberation of Whiteshield. Still, it stung, the way all wounds stung when she saw them inflicted on the undeserving, the way each and every death of an innocent shook her to her core. It was necessity -- but she did not have to like it.
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| − | | |
| − | Then it happened. Already mired in her guilt as she was -- for her stupidity from earlier, for what she had to do to fix it -- it dug her still deeper into the black hole of helplessness and despair. It dug all the way down through the barries of her sanity.
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| − | | |
| − | The spheres on the hooks, they were more than just spheres. They were eggs. And in those eggs were children. Pieced together from the dead. Every piece from a body wrongly defiled, a body still young and purely innocent. Children. They did this to children. And they called to her, every one of them. They called to her as if she alone could absolve them of their pain, soothe them with her gentle words, her comfort.
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| − | | |
| − | Would allowing them to eat her alive soothe them best?
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| − | | |
| − | In the periphery of her shattering awareness, she sees Alexsei, feels him draw near. The weapon in his hands. The words that tremble with emotion. "I cannot let you pass." Will you kill them then, Chosen of Endings? Is that the only mercy you can give?!
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| − | | |
| − | She turns to him as he coils Epilogue into an offensive stance, and -- releasing the Caduceus into the air -- grips his weapon in her hands, hinders him with the weight of her body.
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| − | | |
| − | '''"No," ''' is all she says, her eyes livid with madness-tinged despair.
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| − | | |
| − | '''Alexsei: ''' His stance almost wavers at Ryshassa's attempt to stop him. His heart breaks then, knowing she would rather soothe the poor, twisted cherubs, rather than having any harm come to them...
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| − | | |
| − | He looks at them once more, and his heart screams for the same. Drop his weapon, and let them soothe themselves by relieving their pain on himself... They were no doubt in pain, after all, and it was no fault of them they were brought into this form...
| |
| − | | |
| − | But this was not a solution. As tempting and soothng as it sounded, it was only smoke and mirrors.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "Ryshassa." He begins, shifting his stance to have a better view of the coming threats. "I feel your pain, Ryshassa. I... cannot forgive those that would commit such an atrocity. But these poor souls... They are trapped here, Belladonna. They are in pain, and there is no release for them in this world... They were torn from their deserved rest, condemned to become weapons for the selfish whims of cruel beings... They are lost, Ryshassa. Lost in torment and in anguish, into a world that is no longer their own... And as much as it breaks my heart, I have to grant them realease.."
| |
| − | | |
| − | "I have to set them free... For I couldn't save them while they were alive..."
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| − | | |
| − | His expression hardens, and a single tear is shed, expressing bottomless sorrow that is Alexsei's Krauser's soul. His voice is pain and sadness, despair of being a power that comes much too late.
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| − | | |
| − | "But by the power of Saturn, I will save them in death!"
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| − | | |
| − | With a painful arc of Epilogue, the Chosen of Endings brings the Starmetal weapon in the twisted abominations, each strike cutting into his heart like a knife...
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| − | | |
| − | * Ryshassa tries to hold him back, but to no avail. The starmetal staff wrenches away before she can even touch it. One, two, three strikes. Penetrating through sensitive flesh, crunching into bone. They fall -- so easily, they die.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Her horrified eyes open wide. "Alexsei!" she screams -- a heartwrenching sound. The accusing cry of a mother to her husband as he tears their children apart. "How is this mercy when we are so much stronger than they?" Tears course down a visage contorted with helpless grief and anguish. Her hands reach out again, this time catching Epilogue as it recoils from the third strike. She curls her fingers tightly, desperately, around the starmetal segments, shaking them violently as she weeps. " '''Tell me! '''"
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| − | | |
| − | Without relenting her grip on his weapon, she turns her head outward, towards the winged abominations, the patchwork children swarming about her like flies. "...Mother. You call me 'mother', do you not?" She forces a shaky smile through the tears, despite the thickness in her throat that muddies her voice. "Tell me, then, my... my children. Do you feel pain? Would you rather die, or live?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | "I can give you life. The nourishment of my very body. But my husband, he can grant you.....release. From the pain of this existence... from... the unfairness of this life. Is... is that what you wish..? Because if it is... then I... will not shield you."
| |
| − | | |
| − | "Do you understand?" The last is almost a whisper, a plea.
| |
| − | | |
| − | *There is no response.<br><br>No response but the continued uttering of a single word on their lips.<br><br>"Mother."<br>"Mother."<br>"Mother."<br><br>Their lifeless lips utter in anguish.<br><br>"Mother."<br><Br>They speak as they come to her with taloned hands, with metal teeth, wanting more of her, to rend her and feel more of her...<br><Br>And a few begin to fly to the windian women together with them, who scream, who scream in terror at those obscenities... wanting a piece of them, wanting to touch them, to hug them, to rend them...
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| − | | |
| − | '''Alexander: ''' Ryshassa tried to stop Alexsei...
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| − | | |
| − | Ryshassa tried to talk to them, and her blood begun to spill.
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| − | | |
| − | The women among the Windians with them screamed, flailing... and their blood spilled as well.
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| − | | |
| − | That would not stand.
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| − | | |
| − | Five around him, five to fall. As many as he could, still seven within his blade's length...cutting his way to the healer, cutting his way to Alexsei, who managed to Dance away from the strikes even as his wife held him...
| |
| − | | |
| − | "Forgive me. Please, forgive me... and. Go. Away!"
| |
| − | | |
| − | Shining with the sun's radiance, he exploded in a whirlwind of power and light, cutting the dead cherubins from the sky...
| |
| − | | |
| − | And as he does, he burns a fiery circle of gold all around him, as they fall away, burning on white flames, and taking out two of those assailing Alexsei.... seven down by his blade, three by Alexsei's staff, and so many to go...
| |
| − | | |
| − | Alexander keeps swinging his blade... the light around him greater and greater still. Until it surrounds all of him, all of the Fort within its walls. All around them, the image of a great, fully-armored knight stands, armor of shining alabaster and steel, the very image of what Alexander wanted to be...
| |
| − | | |
| − | ... the very image of what he was right at that moment, as he cut all the remaining ones around Alexsei, cutting all the others in front of Ryshassa... and holding her arm. "Ryshassa, snap out of it. They just won't listen!" He says as he turns around, his eyes liquid gold as he looks to the creatures...
| |
| − | | |
| − | As the great knight above him looks down on them, ordering them not to come any further.
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''"Stay. Away!" '''
| |
| − | | |
| − | He commands...
| |
| − | | |
| − | And so they do, light hurting their eyes, a few feet away from the Prince and the Krausers, and yet not going away...
| |
| − | | |
| − | * Ryshassa does not wince when the twisted cherubs lance her with the blades sewn into their skin. Most of the damage is absorbed by her Essence infused flesh -- but one or two nicks break through, cutting through clothes and skin, drawing her blood. She smiles a strange, unnervingly encouraging smile at the all-too-familiar sensation of pain.
| |
| − | | |
| − | ''Yes. Come to me. I can bear your anguish. I can relieve you of pain. ''
| |
| − | | |
| − | ''Let me bleed for you. ''
| |
| − | | |
| − | Her lips mouth the words, her expression near euphoric as she firmly stands her ground, her hands wrapped tightly around Epilogue, her golden staff whirling about her husband, protecting him from harm. Leaving herself willingly defenseless.
| |
| − | | |
| − | But moments later -- the Prince leaps into action, Ainerach blazing golden in his hand, She stares blankly, her smile giving way to a numbness far beyond despair. So many of them... she can only watch them die. She cannot make them listen. She cannot bring them comfort so long as they live. They are beyond her. Beyond her help.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Her knees nearly buckle. She would have fallen, if not for her grip locked upon Alexsei's starmetal staff. When Alexander -- glorious as he appears in full flare, armored in shining white and gold, gallant, commanding and sure -- reaches for her arm to shake her, she sways in his grip like a reed in the wind. She can only continue to stare in empty, forlorn silence at the broken husks of children scattered upon the floor.
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Alexsei: ''' In a display of brilliant light, the prince takes down another flock of the pitiful cherubims, sending more of them towards the rest that should never have been disturbed. Once more, his heart bleeds as Ryshassa lets herself become overcome by the hungry creatures, yet protects him with the caduceus... His eyes fill with grief as flashes of her pained face show between the flurry of twisted wings and limbs, and yet her grip on his weapon remains...
| |
| − | | |
| − | He stares at his wife for a feww fleeting moments, her conviction keeping her from harming these children, her compassion so strong she would rather let them devour her flesh rather than having them come to harm. He blood fall to the ground, and he realizes he is wathing as they are slowly draining her life away from her, little by little. Her blood hit the ground, and each single crimson drop is like a piece of his soul that is torn away from him...
| |
| − | | |
| − | But he would not let this happen.
| |
| − | | |
| − | ''So be it. ''
| |
| − | | |
| − | One last glance, and he loosens his grip on Epilogue, leaving the Starmetal weapon in Ryshassa's hands. One last lingering gaze at her... And then he turns away, facing the massing zombies.
| |
| − | | |
| − | He walks, slowly and deliberately, right into the fray. He walks among them, letting them surround him, offering himself as a target to their pained, twisted little bodies.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "I. will. not. let. you. have her."
| |
| − | | |
| − | His fists unclench and open, his arms slowly executing a fluid motion that seem to leave a blur of violet essence as they move.
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''"YOU WILL NOT HAVE THEM!" '''
| |
| − | | |
| − | The motion raise in intensity, the movements looking like a dance as he gathers essence about him, spiralling patterns of dark violet surrounding him like a great gate as he loses himself in his performance. As the mournful dance comes to its culminating conclusion, he traces the sign of endings in front of him, bringing both his open palms forward as he releases the gathered essence, using his body as a conduit for the powerful power of endings.
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''"Let the Great Scythe of Saturn bring you rest, pained souls! May Lethe greet you in its warm embrace!!" '''
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| − | | |
| − | | |
| − | * The Gate Opens.<br><br>And on the Gatekeeper's command, they pass through...<br><Br>And fall, like lumps of meat, to the ground, devoid of the essence that animated them.<br><Br>Suddenly, everything goes quiet.
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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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