Difference between revisions of "Stories/CrownedDalaTwo"

Revision as of 08:08, 5 April 2010

Ashan Lo Fruah stood amidst the head of a wedge of Terrestrial Exalted and Ferocious Lion Warriors, all glittering from the sunlight reflecting off their armor. Ashan himself positively glowed in the morning light, the awesome orichalcum glory of the Golden Child visible to any who so much as looked in his direction. The streets were covered in bodies and gore; the battle to claim the central plaza of Dala`varia had been a costly one. Not so much in men, for the Runeblade of Valas Veyas had, in Ashan’s hand, cut through the gathered foes as if they were so much chaff. No, it was costly in the heavy rage it woke in Ashan – he would face demons, such as whose bodies were spread liberally across their approach. He had no fear of the denizens of Malfeas, even if he was happy to see them caged away from the world. No, in his mind, it was the mounting horror of cutting down swaths of innocent citizens of Dala`varia who had been set up by one man as Lion Warriors to protect his own greed.

That man would soon be made to pay for his crimes, but for now Ashan just let the rage simmer within him as the last few strokes of the battle played out around him. The people had truly been blameless, and if any had offered surrender he would have taken it, but the magics of the Sorcerer-King had twisted their wills against them and the only way to ensure the safety of his own men was through the deaths of innocents.

“Jorush!” came the bellowed cry, Ashan moving toward the center of the plaza, climbing over the bodies of those who had fallen as he screamed out his call. “Do not make me come find you, Jorush, I will see to it that you linger for years! Come, face me, and your torment will only last a few short weeks,” he continued to scream, not caring who heard, for who would hold his words against him after what they had just been forced to do? Dark gray eyes were focused on the Palace of Dala`varia, now the Palace of the Sorcerer-King. It stood at the north end of the central plaza, the most heavily defended part of the city.

‘When the city stood poised to fall,’ Ashan thought, grimly. ‘He sacrificed all the rest to defend his stronghold. A fool, but still a dangerous one.’ He took another step forward, crushing the bones of an Erymanthus as he proceeded toward the Reddish Double-Doors of the Palace of the Sorcerer-King. “DO YOU FEAR ME?! COME, YOU SNIVELING COWARD!”

He looked over to his right, at Aeas, who had proceeded forward with him. She gave him a curt nod, Calaran firmly in hand, and waited for some reply. None of the others moved, knowing that if the cries of their leader were answered the resulting melee would be beyond their power to intervene. When put against each other, it is best to let the Solar Exalted fight each other in solitude and peace, rather than risking getting caught in something beyond yourself.

Ashan could see the animas of the other Chosen; Michaes, who might have stood beside him as well, over by the Crafts District, no doubt rooting out the last of the defenders. Myras’ flare was present as well, for which Ashan should have felt some shame but did not, over toward the gate which he was no doubt securing. He saw no sign of the Sorcerer-King, however, and this brought his rage even closer to the fore.

“Do not think,” he said, the shout replaced by a thin whisper. “That I will not tear down your entire palace, and pull your body out of the rubble. I will.”

To that, came a reply. “Very well,” a voice said from the top of one of the tallest towers of the Palace. There was a flash of Essence, and a mighty flock of white birds roared down from the parapets, diving toward the Plaza below. There, they reformed into the body of the Sorcerer-King, the rogue Twilight Jorush. He was tall and of slender build, with a handsome face and dark dark eyes that seemed somehow afflicted. Dressed in white robes that flickered in the dull wind over the plaza, he adopted the Crane Form and awaited his opponents with what must have been a sense of dull certainty.

Ashan came forward first, holding the Runeblade high as he approached, not caring as his heavy feet crushed the bodies of innocent Lion Warrior and demon both. Now was no time for petty sentimentality. “You will be made to pay for your crimes,” he said, his own dark eyes glaring with fury and hate and perhaps shame at what he had been forced to do. Jorush just nodded, and remained in his defensive form.

Aeas, having adapted the capable Tiger Form, attempted to sneak behind the Sorcerer’s flank but found the gesture rather pointless. She grinned slightly, a feral smile as she twirled Calaran, willing the scepter to take the form of a long pair of orichalcum Razor Claws. Ashan could see the anger in her eyes, and knew that they served a twin purpose. All around him, he could feel the animas of the Terrestrial Exalted flaring as they joined their strength, and he knew that if they both fell the Chosen of the Dragons would finish the job he had left undone or perish in the attempt.

Yet, he would not fall, not to this coward.

“Have you no words in your defense?” he asked, letting just a hint of his rage sneak into his voice even as he circled closely. He received no reply, the Sorcerer refusing – quite wisely, as it turned out – to drop his guard, even for an instant. He grinned, slightly, and nodded. “Very well, prepare to speak your words to the Sun. FOR I SHALL TAKE YOU TO HIM!”

He unleashed a Whirlwind of Iron, the Runeblade glowing with occult power as it twirled through the air a half dozen times. The first blow was aimed high, at the King's stolen crown, and it connected as the Sorcerer-King was too dazed by Ashan's lightning-fast attack to put up any defense. The crown was flung lightly from its bearer's head, shattering into golden shards against the walls of the Palace. Ashan's statement had cost him, however. His remaining blows fell toward the Sorcerer-Kings neck, upper torso and midsection, but from these he gracefully bobbed and ducked while remaining in the Crane form.

Jorush, however, had either forgotten the dangers of a Tiger to one’s left in favor to the Iron Whirlwind to his right, or had simply underestimated Aeas as a simple Sorcerer. Falling into the Angry Predator Frenzy, the golden Razor Claws slashed out twice at the Twilight. From the first blow, coming up high and then down to scour his face, he ducked away. The second blow was a sharp horizontal slash across his midsection, and he tried to wheel-away, but Ashan had prepared for this – his blade slicing out one last time in a Foe-Barring Gesture. Blood scented the air as the claws left deep furrows in the Sorcerer-Kings flesh and tore his robes to ribbons.

Yet, the Sorcerer was not without wiles of his own. He glared at each of his opponents in turn, and began a simple incantation that seemed to last but an instant. Yet, even as that instant passed, Ashan could see the fierce battle raging in which he played no part. Aeas feinted and rushed with her claws, but the graceful Crane seemed to be her equal in the martial arts. The two twirled against each other, each injuring the other. More Sorcery flared into the landscape, the King unleashing more unsubtle magecraft – he had always heard that Crane Style was beloved of Twilights caste Sorcerers, and now he could see why, for its maneuvers did not interrupt his ability to unleash his mastery of Sorcery.

Ashan saw the Brilliant Raptor scour Aeas with its flame, a Flying Guillotine attempt to decapitate her before she Savagely Counterattacked it, and heard a song that seemed to rip the ground from under him and turn him on his side. Aeas stumbled at that, and the Sorcerer rent her with a Savage Crane Pirouette, causing her to give off a scream of pain and anger as she attempted to regain her footing.

Just as Ashan was silently raging, lost in his moment, that instant came to an end and with a sudden flurry of activity he flew at his opponent. The Sorcerer-King had, in the intensity of his fight with Aeas, forgotten his presence. No doubt secure in the hold that his spell had over him, as it no doubt would have held a lesser man in its timeless prison for far longer than the span in which it held Ashan's Exalted power at bay. Seldom, after all, do Solar Exalted have the opportunity to test themselves against each other.

He had no time to regret this fatal mistake, as the Runeblade of Valas Veyas cut through his flesh and blood poured liberally down his side, staining his white robes red. Ashan twisted the blade, leaning in close. “Enjoy tea with the Yozi, you twice-damned fool, and be sure to say hello to Cecelyne for me.” He fell, slowly, to the ground as his life’s blood poured out of him, mixing in with the blood of those he’d sacrificed on the altar of his survival and the nobler blood of Aeas.

Black eyes glared up at Ashan, life fading from them, but he did not give him the pleasure of any more attention – moving over toward Aeas, who was slowly regaining her feet. She was covered in blood, but how much of it was hers and how much was simply from her fall onto the bloody plaza was difficult to tell. “Are you alright, Aeas?”

She coughed a bit, but nodded, and once again Calaran was a scepter. “Yes,” she said, finally, giving him a light smile. “I must learn that style-“

Laughter, then, came from the direction of the fallen Sorcerer-King. Despite himself, Ashan turned and looked at him. Eyes widened; Essence poured around him as he channeled the energy of his death into magics unlike any Ashan had seen before! Free of the need for defense, Aeas let out a shout and began a proper counterspell…but Ashan recognized it then, a frown furrowing on his brow even as he realized that her attempt would be useless.

Necromancy.

Bracing himself, Ashan moved swiftly toward the Sorcerer. Jorush’s laughter died on his blade, the last of his blood offering itself to the Dawn Caste warrior, but not before the essence of the spell had been unleashed. With wide eyes, Ashan looked around – the men were nervous as well, gazing around themselves. Not all had fully understood what had happened, but a glance at Aeas indicated that she knew what had occurred. Nonetheless, maybe her countermagic—

“Oh, Gods in Yu-Shan! Quickly, men! To arms! It’s not over yet!”

All around, and throughout the city, the dead began to rise.

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