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| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/FirstMovement|First Movement]]
| + | #REDIRECT ADanceOfAngels |
| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/DanceOfAngels|A Dance of Angels]]
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| − | == White Threat, Black Death ==
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| − | As the Angel and the Dove leave, the Prince raises his celestial blade, essence pouring from the stone on its handle acting as a key to the Solar Manse, making its doors open in a spetacular manner, not as inconspicuous as they should be... and over her shoulder, Vorpal can see the three children hurrying in the Manse, its doors closing protectively before them...
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| − | Around the Pale Angel and the Ashen Dove, the nightfall is heavy. The air is thick, cold... heavy. Mists cover stretches of the mountain and even the tallest manses as they look around, and at times, even the end of streets. The sound of parties or brawls echoes from some undiscernible distance as the two walk on the moist cobblestones towards the Inn...must not be too far, Vorpal knows, if Selina’s directions were right...
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| − | Not too long after, they prove themselves right as, surrounded by the mists, the tall building that is the <i>Hourglass</i> comes into view. A pretty, but non-functional Windmill crowns the big structure, light and conversation pouring from inside, coating the Inn in merry warmth, in a feeling of home. Of course, that is not home to Vorpal. No place but her Mistress’ fortress is.
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| − | The huge common room radiates laugher and undiscernible, high-spirited talks, the faint smell of fish coming from its kitchens, probably in the back to be so faint... and in front of its door, the Hourglass logo and its icon above the door... three stores above the first, all in strong wood and stone.
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| − | As they enter, a pretty receptionist, dirty blonde hair, hazel eyes and brown feathers greets them, rehearsed smile on her face. “Welcome to the Hourglass! What can I do for you?” She says, looking at the at the albino suspiciously... hooded travelers tend to not be good news, on the age of sorrows. And her deathly pale skin... that and the beggar. Only his preternatural beauty prevents her from immediately calling the Inn’s guardians, two huge men with blades sheathed at their hips not far in the room, but she does look at them over her shoulder, ready to call for them if need be...
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| − | <b>Domiel:</b> "A bath," Domiel answers unhesitatingly, hardly lifting his gaze to the young woman. The weight of the road and his own self-pity are at the forefront of his mind, but he manages a pleasant smile. "And a room, if you please milady."
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| − | Pitifully morose as he is, it's imposable for Domiel resist a glance from the corner of his eye at the pale skinned mercenary nor keep his tone from teasing as he gestures towards her. "For me, at least. The lady is of course welcome to join me in either, if she has no other plans."
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| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> The receptionist's suspicious glance does not go unnoticed. Once upon a time, years ago, there might have been an occasion when Vorpal would have pressed the point and enjoyed her fill of the discomfort her unusual appearance caused on people. These days, however, she usually does not bother much.
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| − | "I'll pass, thanks", she responds evenly. With a casual gesture Vorpal flings the hood to the back of her head, releasing the cascades of snow-white hair to flow freely down her shoulders.
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| − | <i>Take a really good look, now...</i>
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| − | "I'd like to book in two rooms - separate, preferably."
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| − | <b>Aliset:</b> Sighing, looking him like an annoyance on her job more than a customer, she'd keep her rehearsed smile and reply, "Well, if you have Silver to pay for it, it will certainly please me." She nods, looking at Vorpal, "Same goes for you. But if you do, we have two rooms upstairs that are still free, and we only have four of them still free, three of them having been emptied this afternoon, so you're in luck! And we have a nice warmed bath, I bet you will love it, good sir!"
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| − | The entrance room, where they stand, has fine tapestries on its walls, banners of noble houses of Windia, and depictions of some of the local guardian spirits. They can see a fine carpet in the entrance to the common hall, although the stained wood on the floor below you, pressed mud and dirt, shows quite well why they did not use so in the entrance room. None of the two guards are Windians - they have the sort of bulk a child of the sky would never easily get, both tough northerners, maybe former barbarians, long blonde hair, mustache and beard, heavy, dark, fur-covered buff jacket covering their huge bodies, and big iron swords sheathed on their hips.
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| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> "My employer will be down here later tonight. She will take care of the funding." Half-turning away from the counter, her red eyes searching idly for the direction of the taproom, Vorpal gives the receptionist a weary wave of hand. "Red hair, white wings, big tits, stuck-up attitude. You will know her on sight."
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| − | <b>Domiel:</b> The Ashing Dove's shoulders shift, his hands spreading to either side as he shrugs and makes a soft sound of acceptance. Now or later made little difference. It was only a matter of time.
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| − | "I am certain that it will..." Domiel mutters distractedly, taking a second appraisal of his pale companion. Without that ghastly hood to hide her, she was quite a bit more fetching that he had first assumed. White haired, no less. That was certain exotic...
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| − | Fishing into his pocket for the borrowed coin, jade the Prince had given him, not silver, Domiel holds them out towards the receptionist. "This will cover the cost, I trust?"
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| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> If Vorpal had to play the Dark Angel's personal bodyguard, then so be it. She could handle the soldier-talk easily enough, and every self-respecting underling used every moment possible to speak bad of the employer behind her back.
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| − | <b>Aliset:</b> The girl sighs, shaking her head. "Leave your names here then, if you please, yours and your employer's." She says, handling you a pencil. "And you would better not be lying about this. You work as if you had freeloaded us for a month if so, and that if our owner likes you." She winks.
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| − | Taking Domiel's Jade coin, she would look at it for awhile... first a smile that seems to scream 'lucky!', then an eye of suspicion to the 'beggar' who has a Jade coin with him... but plays along. "Your name too, good sir... but you be sure you will have a special place in our bathing chambers... and much more. Unless you want all the change?" she asks, still suspicious but trying to be extra pleasant just in case. "Oh, my name's Aliset, if you need anything, just call, we are here to make your stay wonderful!"
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| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> "Oh, I'm certain your owner would just <i>love</i> me", Vorpal counters with humor that is as dry and parched as the Southern desert as she picks up the pencil and bends down to write the names. "An albino waitress who doubles as a bouncer should any drunken drooler get too brave. Wouldn't that be a show?"
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| − | Actually, the image holds a certain, odd sort of charm in Vorpal's mind, like a faint glimpse of another world, or a dream of a different life. This, however, is something she is definitely not letting others know. Focusing her thoughts to the task at hand, she first writes down her employer's name.
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| − | "Nellens Adriana is what she is called..."
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| − | Moving to the next line, she almost begins to trace the pencil along the paper... and hesitates. It is a fleeting moment, however, as the decision is made quickly and with convinction, as is her way.
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| − | "...And I am Lilith."
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| − | <b>Domiel:</b> "A month, is it? Harsh task master, that." Day for day had been Domiel's free-loading experiences, in the rare case he had been caught. "Certain now that you won't join me, milady?" he asks Vorpal, feigning a polite smile as he takes the pencil from the reseptionist. "How well can you trust your employer to actually show and cover the costs?"
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| − | "Aliset, is it? Yes, thank you Aliset..." Scribbling the alias he had taken on the line of the guest ledger, Domiel makes his tone clipped and polite, emulating the same sort of thoughtless superiority that came with noble birth. "The change won't be necessary. Nor will a 'special place' anywhere, but I do have a few needs I am hoping your inn will be able to accommodate me with. Unfortunate events have left me bereft of my luggage and a great deal of my dignity, I am sorry to say."
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| − | <b>Aliset:</b> "Hmmm, now, now, I don't think we need more bouncers here, really." She smiles, "Here's your keys, Lilith! I work here most of the night and the afternoon, so if you need anything during that time... same to you." She says, handling Domiel's keys. "Hmmm, clothes? I suppose we can send someone to buy some clothes for you, with the excess of your precious jade.. I will send someone to your room or to wait outside the baths so you tell him exactly what you want, right? Shall call him in a few!"
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| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> "Well, if she does not show up, then I'm out of work and will pay from my own pouch", Vorpal responds wearily, with detached indifference instead of dry humor this time. "I think freeloading is rather your style than mine, fiddler."
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| − | <i>Chatty fellow, aren't you?</i>
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| − | "Oh?" Something Domiel says seems to truly catch Vorpal's attention for the first time since they arrived to the inn. Turning to the beggar fiddler, Vorpal lifts an idle eyebrow at him. The mud and the rags did not suit the fellow at all - underneath the smeared appearance was a very handsome man. Couple that with the eloquent manner of speaking, and you'd have a combination who spent his time in the ditch only if he really wanted to. "What happened then?"
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| − | <b>Domiel:</b> "You wound me, milady," Domiel answered again, meeting Vorpals indifference with a cheerful smile and palm pressed to his heart. "Simply because my lot in life doesn't involve killing people does not mean I don't work for my keep." Sometimes after it had been given, rather than before, but it wasn't a complete lie to say that he always earned it.
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| − | "Ah how did I lose them?" Domiel cleared his throat slightly, his head dropping again. But he still smiled and the warmth that was flooding his cheeks was not quiet embarrassment. However badly it had ended, the memory of just where his clothing had originally vanished to was hardly unpleasant. "I'll be more than happy to regal you with that embarrassing tale after I've the chance to clean up."
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| − | His tone is a dismissal and his gaze pointy stares through Vorpal as it sweeps the room. "Do you happen to have a stage or place for performers tucked away into your... delightful little inn? I fancy myself a bit of a player, you see, and as my in I would appreciate a public forum to practice on."
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| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> "Better wash first", Vorpal puts in and leans an elbow against the reception counter, her cloak falling open with the motion.
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| − | <b>Aliset:</b> "Yes, yes, we do, on the common hall. You can go there embarass yourself.... we won't be hold responsible if people throw the vegeatables at you! Well, we might make you clean it, actually. Of course, we also won't hold any money you earn in it against you, in fact, if you do well enough, we might pay for an encore..." She points at the common hall, and gives the directions to the bathing chambers, telling them Domiel's payment will be told to them when they are to prepare his'...
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| − | <b>Domiel:</b> "As had been my intention," Domiel sniffs, then wrinkles his nose slightly. "... yes."
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| − | "You are most kind, hostess," the fiddler tips his head, making towards the bathing chambers with an eagerness he hasn't felt since following the baroness out of her carriage.
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| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> The Pale Angel remains motionless, her eyes silently following Domiel's distancing back as the fiddler moves in the direction of the baths. As soon as he is out of sight, however, she turns and leans over the counter to address Aliset for one more time.
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| − | "You <i>do</i> separate the baths for men and women with something better than just a high wall, right?"
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| − | <b>Aliset:</b> As a matter of fact, we do... Inns around here have some problems with winged voyeurs, so we made them into separate chambers... so people can enjoy some privacy on their baths" She nods
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| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> "Wonderful." Vorpal smiles - a wicked smile, perhaps, but it is a genuine smile, not the sort she gives to people she wishes to scare or insult. Pushing herself away from the counter, she turns quickly and heads down in the direction of the baths herself. Waving her thanks to Aliset, she calls out to the receptionist over her shoulder: "If he comes out before I do, don't tell him I'm in, all right?"
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| − | <b>Hourglass:</b> The Baths are a pleasant, wonderful experience....chambers of clear rock, the water scented, the scent impregnating the air with soothing lavender essence, taking off the weight of battles and blood, of death and dirt, making it so the two feel like being born again...
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| − | During his bath, Domiel is visited by a boy, face bright, wings well-preened, "I heard you needed some clothes bought for you, good sir... may you tell me what you would prefer?"
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| − | Vorpal, on the other hand, has her bath unimpeded, and afterwards just feels light and clear, her pale skin cleaned and scented....
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| − | <b>Domiel:</b> Half-asleep and clouded by steam, the Ashing Dove lays with one leg casually flung over the edge of the tub, liquid-gray hair flowing and oozing through the water around him like sea plant, and sighs in deep contentment. Now <i>this</i> is what life should be like. Quietly, he tallies off a list of clothing for the servant, recreating the outfit he had lost in his leap from Anina's window, if embellishing the quality a little.
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| − | "Oh, and a scarf," he adds to the very end, recalling the damp cold outside as a distant memory, but one he could hardly ignore the existence of. "White, as the rest, if you please."
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| − | A flick of his wrist dismisses the boy and Domiel happily sinks even lower into the water.
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| − | Wings are a blessing, and in those that are the messengers of the wing make the best use of it. By the time Domiel has finished his bath not an hour from then, the boy is there, clothes in his hand, smiling at the changeling and leaving them into the chamber, by the door....
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| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> A moment of privacy, alone. Sheltered from the outside world by four stone walls, a chance to pretend that nothing beyond this chamber ever existed. A bubble of peace bobbing in the middle of Void.
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| − | <i>It's too bad that kind of Void is probably not what the Malfeans are after.</i>
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| − | Vorpal reflects upon this as she fastens the brooch to its place and lets the folds of the cloak settle around her once more. Warm and light-headed from the bath, the pleasant scent still clinging to her hair, she feels better than she has had in a long, long while. The bath had been more than a refreshment for her body - it had invigorated her soul as well.
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| − | She walks over to the bath chamber's door, her hand hovering above the doorknob... and pausing there.
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| − | She lifts her arms high above her head, arches her back, leather creaking with the strain.
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| − | <i>Mmm-m.</i>
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| − | And then she turns the knob and opens the portal, leaving the pleasure behind, sliding the cold shell of the Pale Angel back in place, ready to take on the world once again...
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| − | ...and yet, deep under her facade, she's smiling.
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| − | <b>Hourglass:</b> As Vorpal gets out, feeling so well.... a girl runs up to her, "Miss Lilith, Miss Lilith?"
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| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> <i>Oh no.</i>
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| − | "Yes?" Just a single, neutral word - despite her image, Vorpal is feeling too good to start frightening people just yet.
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| − | "It's a certain miss Adrianna... she left a message for you! For you to meet her, on a square two roads from here.... you are miss Lilith, right? Her messenger said it was urgent..."
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| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> "Thanks", Vorpal brushes absently a palm over the girl's hair as she pushes past her and continues with the calm pace down the corridor.
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| − | <i>I suppose the underling should follow the employer's instructions...</i>
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| − | <b>Domiel:</b> Half a pound of dirt and a ton of stress left behind in the tub, Domiel floats out of the bathing chamber nearly the moment Vorpal makes her own exit from the corridor. The feel of silk against his skin again is heavenly, the fit surprisingly keen for having only word of mouth and a glance to go on.
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| − | Alive yet again, and better for it for once. And now it was time to be a performer. Without the weight of promises and death on his mind for the first time in a while, there was longing to hear music again that could not be denied. He'd felt as much a mercenary lately as Lilith was.
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| − | Thought of the attractive mercenary made him glance around the common room for some sight of her, but if she were present then she had hid herself well. Disappointing she wouldn't hear him play, but the room was not wanting for women, so he would survive.
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| − | Lover's Sweet Sigh cradled under his arm, he moves as unobtrusively as he can through the common room, but clad in white and gray, it's doubtful his pretense of stealth drew any less of a gaze that he might have otherwise. Quietly stepping into the area the young receptionist had pointed out to him before, Domiel mulled over a selection to play. Nothing fancy, tonight. Nothing to draw over much attention down upon his head.
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| − | <b>Hourglass:</b> Vorpal walks out of the inn, and as she does so, the girl comes running after her.... "Miss, miss!" she calls out, running on the silent, moist, fog-covered street after Vorpal...
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| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> Halting, Vorpal lifts her hands to her hips and turns around, the cloak sweeping around her with the motion. "What now?" she sighs.
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| − | "It's miss Adrianna, she also said, she also said...." The girl says, hands on her knees, taking her breath....
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| − | <b>Alabaster:</b> "... That she will meet you again on the void." She says, wicked smile on her face... that begins to break. Flesh rending, tore apart by... insects. She's still smiling wickedly as her face is tore apart, and, buzzing, a thousand beetles come out of her, a million... too many, too many, too many to even be contained in her tiny frame... they buzz forth, touching Vorpal's skin but flying foward, upward... covering everything in black, melding at the edges... covering everything Vorpal can see in black ink, surrounded by it in a fog-covered sphere detached from the world....
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| − | Her hand flying to grab Mournful Kiss's handle, Vorpal takes a nimble step backwards she the world around her changes. Her eyes move back and forth, quickly taking a stock of her surroundings, and although the vast blackness around her is enough to send her heart fluttering, on the surface she manages to maintain her cool and composed mien. "Very pretty", she states, and the daiklave slides free from its scabbard. "Bishop?"
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| − | Above Vorpal, the stars shift in the visage of the Bishop of the Chacedony Thurible, two fake moons as his eyes, looking down mockingly at Vorpal. “You are not deserving of even the slightest of his great attention.”
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| − | Shining under the fake Moonlight, Alabaster takes a step foward out of the unreal mist, covered in beautiful, glaming White Jade Armor. Silver glistens in it, as does turquoise stones. He looks like a dragon in armor and poise, mighty and bright.. with the exception of his eyes, under the mask... clearly dead eyes, gazing at Vorpal’s pale flesh with contempt. From the eyes, you see the White Jade is paler than it should be, that the silver glistens in fake moonlight. In his hand rest a spear, White Jade and Ivory, handled with all the arrogant confidence of a dragon of the dead, covered in ivory cape and shawl depicting the shining thurible.
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| − | ”Although, different from the other, you are a warrior. You did not hide in the clouds, you fought with your steel and held your ground. You are the Pale Angel, are you not? I am Alabaster, Lord Commander of the Dead Hand. I salute you for having dispatched our Lord Scout to Oblivion. That feat will decorate your name in our scriptures after w edispatch you tonite. Show us the worthy foe who fell the Blade, Pale Angel...”
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| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> "Not worthy slighest of his attentions?" Vorpal responds and pushes the cloak out of the way to her back with a shrug of her shoulders. Her hands caress the handle of the sword, the tip of the blade pointing in a sloping angle towards the ground. "First the Lord Scout and now the Lord Commander of the Dead Hand? Aye, definitely not worth the attention, are we?"
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| − | <i>The ghost of a Terrastrial?</i>
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| − | A challenge. Finally, a challenge, and no disturbances to spoil her fun.
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| − | She smiles again, her red eyes bright. The design of the ghost's armor reminds her of someone else, another Terrastrial of her past...
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| − | Aye... This would no doubt be interesting.
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| − | <b>Alabaster:</b> "You had help then, did you not? The help of the flying coward our Lord Asssassin, the Black Avian, has certainly disposed of already." He spats out, his spear lining down, his dead eyes noticing every movement of Vorpal's.... "'Chosen'.... you really think you are worthy of the attentions of all of Heaven and the Abyss, aren't you? So we are giving you the attention... the attention a dragon gives a bug before crushing it."
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| − | A wave of his hand, and he is looking... behind Vorpal, now. "But I have not come alone." and then, behind Vorpal, she feels a.... <i>thing.</i>
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| − | The feeling of a tiger behind you. Of a Rhino behind you. Of a <i>monster</i> behind you.
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| − | Because....The creature that lurks close by can’t be human. It has two legs, two arms, and a torso, but it just... can’t be human. Its body is hulkingly large, arms and legs like tree logs. Its surface seems more ossific than flesh, covered in a Reinforced Breastplate of Soulsteel where the souls of strong animals wail. Its face is a skull, a gigantic skull, going far to the back and far to the front, with dead-flesh eyes inside its ossific sockets, and large ivory teeth. In its hands, there are two large Goremauls, made of soulsteel and black jade, pale diamonds for their eyes, like wicked stars in a tortured night sky... it growls at the sight of flesh, feigning animalism while its eyes shine in intelligent recognition... older than civilizations, wilder than barbarians.
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| − | "That is Obsidian, our Lord Enforcer. We will crush you, Pale Angel..."
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| − | And as he says so, they ready their weapons for battle....
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| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> "Oh, and after you've disposed of me, you write into your little scripture that Alabaster, Lord Commander of the Dead Hand, needed <i>help</i> to do battle against the Pale Angel?" A single laugh escapes her lips, loud and sharp like a razor. "Are you a warrior, Alabaster, or just a really sensible man?"
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| − | <b>Alabaster:</b> "I have been existed almost as long as the Empress has sat on her throne, Pale Angel." He says, darting towards Vorpal, her spear jutting foward, a straight path towards Vorpal's heart...."You don't exist for so long being reckless."
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| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> All of a sudden, Vorpal moves. Not forward, not backwards, but to the side, a single, smooth step out of the spear's path, unnaturally deft, a fading trail of afterimages following in her wake.
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| − | "You're wide open", she states and steps forward, the spear's shaft brushing against her chest, Mournful Kiss slashing around in a vertical arc towards Alabaster's head.
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| − | <b>Alabaster:</b> Mounrful Kiss hits home, but makes simply a... small cut. Nothing the dead would even feel "I don't need to worry myself with your sword, you see. Your soulsteel will never get past my Jade. Ever. The Dragons are dead, and now they protect me."
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| − | <b>Obsidian:</b> Obsidian, on the other hand.... his Goremauls hit the ground, heavily, exploding it in a thousand splinters as the ground comes towards him, the cobblestones on the street joining with his armor, with his bone-hardened flesh, making him a monster armored in earth.... the Goremauls moving back up, over his shoulder, he would stand wide Open to Vorpal. "They protect us both." A hollow voice, almost a grunt, would utter.
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| − | <b>Alabaster:</b> His spear shifts on his hand, white jade and ivory pale under the fake moonlight. "On the Shining One's name..."
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| − | His eyes close, the spear points towards Vorpal's heart, White oblivion seething with its unnatural venom, wishing to suffuse Vorpal's soul with the White Sun.... his eyes open in a jolt of action, as he darts foward like he himself was the spear, a single line of white directly to Vorpal's heart....
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| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> <i>When a warrior goes into battle...</i>
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| − | Her anima bursting into a bonfire of pale flames, Vorpal whips her Daiklave in a circle over her head once, the blade trailing a long, wavering thread of blackness in its wake. From there the sword comes whistling down in a diagonal arc as she twists her body with the movement, bringing the weapon into a lightning-quick block against the on-coming spear...
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| − | As Vorpal swings her body and brings the weapon down on to block the spear, its blade hits the Dire Lance's tip, and, in a spetacular shower of sparks, twists free from the Pale Angel's hand, landing on a wall a few meters away, stuck deep on a patch of darkness, certainly a wall outside the illusion.... and, defenseless. Vorpal takes the blunt of the Dire Lance's charge....
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| − | <i>...she doesn't do it like this,</i> Vorpal finishes the thought dryly, her gathered Essence dissipating, worthless and unused without a blade to channel it through. This was definitely not her day, but in the middle of a heated fight, she felt oddly calm about the loss of her weapon. The tide of battle was always fickle, and would ebb and flow back and forth, always depending not only on the warrior's skill, but also on sheer luck - the best one could do against the tide was to react immediately, and hope to make the right choice.
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| − | In this case, she believes the right choice would be to dash towards her sword and yank it from the wall without slowing down, and continue along the edge of the illusion, hoping that her sheer speed would keep her outside Obsidian's reach for now.
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| − | As the shadows crept around Vorpal, they close in... and close in... more and more, oily and black, making it so she miss the floor, the fake moonlight... everything vanishes, everything, leaving only her and the void, as she seems to turn... around. For the darkness is finite, a globe that brings her back to her starting point, back to Alabaster and Obsidian....
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| − | Lifting her newly-recovered sword to her shoulder, Vorpal makes a show of clearing her throat carefully. "Sorry about that", she states. "I'll try to get serious now."
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| − | With that, she darts forward again, to try out her unfinished move anew, the blur of shadow trailing after her as she throws her body into the spinning motion again, Mournful Kiss whirling in a thousand feints in the direction of Obsidian, false attacks which all conceal the real, powerful strike that sweeps up into the monster, with all the power of Vorpal's body and Essence behind it...
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| − | | |
| − | <b>Obsidian:</b> The obscene creature grins... or was he always grinning? The darkened bone carapace over his head is like a skull, always showing that rin... that grin that seems to be mocking her victim's very existence, so terrible when combined with its hungry eyes... eyes that follow the path of the blades, trying to find the true one....
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| − | | |
| − | <i>Many flies, many flies... but only one wasp.</i>
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| − | | |
| − | With clear mind, his Goremauls move swiftly, <i>too</i> swiftly, to parry the Pale Angel's strike.
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| − | | |
| − | Obsidian Laughs.
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| − | | |
| − | His laugh echoes through the hollow darkness, encompassing all of it. It's thunderous, what would be if a Rhino laughed, a barking that seems to make the grounditself shake.
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| − | | |
| − | <b>Alabaster:</b> "He is a mountain." Alabaster speaks, at Vorpal's side. "You cannot bring the mountain down, foolish Chosen. Simply accept it. And if the mountain decides to fell you, you will be just as a lobster inside your armor, ready to be crushed by its strength... especially after the Underworld's spines sap the life away from the soft little girl inside the shell." With these words, he darts foward, White Oblivion crackling with draconic esence, pure elemental power going straight to Vorpal's heart once again....
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| − | | |
| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> Vorpal does not say a thing, merely flips her body around, not slowing down, her blade sweeping in to bat aside Alabaster's weapon...
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| − | | |
| − | Staggering from the force of the blow, Vorpal's boots scrape against the illusionary ground as she slides to a halt. Dark Queen's Vestments flow back together over the hole made by the ghost Terrastrial's spear. It's too bad that her wound won't repair itself quite as easily - already she can feel the warmth of her own blood trickling down her skin under the armor...
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| − | | |
| − | <i>Huff... huff...</i>
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| − | | |
| − | Pain... It's been a while since anything had gotten through her armor quite as cleanly. Her eyes focus down on the rubu-red stain on the tip of the jade spear - it's blood, her blood, freshly drawn from her body by the sharpness of that blade.
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| − | | |
| − | <i>Huff... huff...</i>
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| − | | |
| − | She smiles, grimaces, grins, out of pain, exertion... and <i>joy.</i> "Nicely done", she purrs sweetly. "Nicely <i>done..</i>."
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| − | | |
| − | Suddenly she bolts onwards again, ignoring the pain, ignoring caution, her anima bursting into its pale glory as her sword whisks and spins in the familiar shape of the unfurling lotus...
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| − | | |
| − | <b>Alabaster:</b> Under such an onslaught, all the mockery both had given Vorpal vanishes to a serious concern for survival as their bodies move... Alabaster to block the strikes with all he has, Obsidian simply lazily blocking one of them.
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| − | | |
| − | "You are strong with your sword, are you not? Powerful, Chosen, you are... but without it, what are you?"
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| − | | |
| − | With these words, Alabaster rushes foward, but not towards Vorpal's heart, not towards her life... but towards her blade, targetting the handle with blinding speed, becoming a white blur as he approaches her fist.... and fails to take Mounrful Kiss off her hand.
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| − | | |
| − | <b>Obsidian:</b> He laughs again, looking at the wound done by the armor with contempt. His voice comes, deep, unplasant... without much modulation. It doesn't sound... human, emotionless. "Idiot. You do not take her paws off. You break the shell. You kill the lobster. Like this." And saying so, his other Goremaul moves, directly towards Vorpal's chest.
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| − | | |
| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> The boom of goremaul hitting against soulsteel echoes throughout the dreary landscape... Vorpal staggers backwards from the blow... and laughs, her voice bright. "Swatting flies, big boy?"
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| − | | |
| − | <b>Obsidian:</b> "You. Are. Tough." He says, his voice still emotionless, raspid as if his tongue was made of rock, "I could like you." He laughs.
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| − | | |
| − | <b>Alabaster:</b> Alabaster jumps towards Vorpal, coming down from above, his spear coming down to bite on her shoulder, not charging but trying to hit a soft spot on her neck, his spear keeping him out of her reach....
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| − | | |
| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> The crucified angel of her anima banner blazing like a frozen sun in the dark illusion, Vorpal's blade flies up to push the offending jade weapon out of its path... and her free hand follows in the next instant, grabbing at the spear's shaft as it falls past her. She yanks the spear downwards, forcing the Terrastrial to make the choice between letting go of his weapon or being pulled to the ground as well, the Pale Angel's sword blurring up in its dance of ghost silhouettes to meet his fall...
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| − | | |
| − | <b>Alabaster:</b> Eyes widening before ther force of the aura before him, he steps back swirling his spear around so he parries with its back, making it stand protectively in front of him like a wall...
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| − | | |
| − | "That... is all?" Alabaster looks at Vorpal, amused.... "Is <i>THIS</i> all? I have fought better, Pale Angel. Let me show you now. Obsidian... crush her. This is a direct order. Crush the shell, and we might eat the lobster."
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| − | | |
| − | <b>Obsidian:</b> Obsidian's mace flickers on his hand. "Yes." He says, looking calmly at Vorpal. "Yes." The mace moves, and comes with impossible speed towards the Pale Angel.... too quickly, too fast, moving with the speed of the Underworld towards its prey!
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| − | | |
| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> "No", she states, letting go of the spear and dancing away, her blade flickering in a lightning-quick parry above her head as she does so.
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| − | | |
| − | <b>Alabaster:</b> Hardly as she finished her previous move as she suddenly reverses her direction with a powerful push of her legs, darting back into the fray, the blade flying in its familiar blossom form once more... but the nemessary simply twirls his lance, parrying each of the blows.
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| − | | |
| − | <b>Selina:</b> Steps echoing down the cobblestone street, Selina stops a ways from the inn, diving into the Trance to make sure Black Avian isn't cloaked somewhere in a new body, waiting for her to step inside and stab her in the back. And she sees it.
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| − | | |
| − | <i>...amusing.</i>
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| − | | |
| − | <i>If this is what I think it is...I'll let her have the full fight she burns for.</i>
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| − | | |
| − | Running a hand through her dyed fiery red hair, twirling a finger in the ringlets, Selina chuckles and looks for a chair to sit on so she can watch the show.
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| − | | |
| − | <b>Alabaster:</b> Alabaster circles around Vorpal, the wounds beggining to show on his body as dark blood pours out, though the Nemessary seems to barely notice the dropping of his vehicle's performance. "I haven't fought for so long in a long, long time...." He says, "You are truly deserving of both of our might." saying just that, he goes foward, once again trying to kill Vorpal...
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| − | | |
| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> "Oh, come on, now..." Vorpal breathes almost lazily, once again dashing forward along the spear's shaft. There is something... decidedly disturbing about the way she looks at the ghost Terrastrial, tufts of her hair tangled over her eyes and crimson droplets staining her face.
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| − | | |
| − | "Surely you can do better than <i>that</i>... Vaynard." The last word is accompanied by a diagonal swing of Mournful Kiss. But once again, it does not penetrate.
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| − | | |
| − | And, drained of all of her mystical blood, of every once of her essence, Vorpal begins to sweat, the magical armor of the dead around her wavering some under the impact, but whole... her blood flowing, deep scarlet coming from her pale skin...
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| − | | |
| − | Blood coats a spear as pale as her flesh, White Oblivion shimmering wickedly with Essence, hungry to take another victim. Another strike at its possessor, another light prod. Alabaster still stands, his eyes mocking. And Obsidian... Obsidian lifts his mace for yet another strike, bringing Abyssbreaker, his Goremaul, down heavily towards Vorpal's torso...
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| − | | |
| − | As Abyssbreaker hits Vorpal, she hits the wall behind her...
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| − | | |
| − | ...falling.
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| − | | |
| − | Obsidian laughs, triumphant, over the Abyssal’s body.
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| − | | |
| − | The Pale Angel has fallen.
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| − | | |
| − | ----
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| − | | |
| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/FirstMovement|First Movement]]
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| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/DanceOfAngels|A Dance of Angels]]
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