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| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/FourthMovement|Fourth Movement]]
| + | #REDIRECT [[ADanceOfAngels]] |
| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/DanceOfAngels|A Dance of Angels]]
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| − | == Enter the Wyld Child ==
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| − | In the streets of the Boil, on Iron Tears' words, the uprising begins.
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| − | Out of their homes, all sorts of people come out to try and liberate their city. Armed with whatever they could salvage, they fight... even as flames take the Red-Lantern district, and Giants of metal loom over the Boil, giant statues moving on the Industrial District...
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| − | Near the Gates, unfortunately, the fight is mostly lost. Highlane is shielded by magic, and the districts near the walls filled with all sorts of undead agents, few demons... and some very good criminals. Most of the rebels there rush to the Industrial and Ashen Districts, to meet with the Iron God and his forces...
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| − | And above the walls, Relentless Prism, the Child of Wyld Days and her thrall watch the drama unfold...
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| − | The fire, the demons, the noises of the fight, the dark lights over the Graveyard, the great armored suits...
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| − | Prism runs her finger over the handle of her blade, enjoying it... the feel of fighting, of war. "Hmmm. ''Most'' impressive..."
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| − | '''Child of Wyld Days: ''' "Most impressive doesn't even begin to '''describe''' the feeling! This is true war... but something is missing, my teacher." The Child of Wyld Days, the Snow Monkey, puts on a broad smirk, Owl and Serpent coiled around her wrist in preparation for battle.
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| − | "And I'm rather certain that that something would be us. But... however shall we start our part of the dance? Just leaping in and laying waste would be fun, but it could have its consequences... hrm..." Tongue out, the Eshu thinks, looks, and marvels.
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| − | ''Oh, such timing! Such luck! This is... this is perfect! ''
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| − | '''Messenger: ''' "W-well..." The messenger speaks, still enthralled by Days and Prism, his eyes leering at Snow Monkey as much as he tries not to... "M-my lord and the forces of the Bishop are up there!" He points Eastward.
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| − | "Those... ''things'' there" He points at the Warstriders, "One of them is Iron Tears, the City Father, he... rebelled... all of the Industrial District up north will be his', probably.... you should go to east if you wish to help m'lord..."
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| − | '''Child of Wyld Days: ''' "I see, I see. You are such a useful young man..." The Child offers him a smile and a finger along his cheek as a reward. "And... Iron Tears, you say? Perhaps it's time I tapped this dry land for a little bit of knowledge." Brass eyes shining, the Child wills a strip of dreamstuff to bridge the extensive gap between body and Heart-soul, bringing with it the truth of Creation's events and history.
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| − | "Teacher Prism, what do you know of this 'Iron Tears' fellow?" Waiting for a reply, Snow Monkey's ears twitch and perk up at things only she can hear...
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| − | '''Relentless Prism: ''' "My, my. Is that not the truth, my dear disciple!" She smiles at her words. Yes, yes, only they that were missing.... "Oh, Iron Tears? He is the God of the Boil, pretty much. Its Father, and lord of its forges, foundries, of its industry. A little bit on the boring side, really - too much work, and little bit of the romance I saw on my rivalry with Cetari... but still, I heard he is quite an... imposing, figure. It seems to be right, from what we see..."
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| − | Snow Monkey learns more. Of how he has two siblings, a god of mines, Kodak, who has been away for a long time, jealous of his brother's power and worship in the city. And the Smiling Lover, his sister and lover, the goddess of the Red Lantern district and the whores and courtesans of the Boil. That his home is on a place she can see, the Snow Owl Resting, at the end of the Industrial District, and that he has an elite of priests and soldiers known as the Tigers of the Relentless Gears... and more.
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| − | '''Child of Wyld Days: ''' The Child can only smile to herself, filing that which Creation gives to her away for later use. "Imposing indeed... it makes one wonder how long this little fracas has gone on. Would you happen to know, dear heart?" She turns to her new tagalong, teasing him a bit more with one of her fingers, the gently-pointed nail as much made from brass as her somehow-functional eyes.
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| − | "I assure you that our stay together will be quite rewarding for you if you continue to be so, so helpful. So, please... speak." She lets her gaze linger, then looks out again, scanning the batleground that is the Boil.
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| − | ''My Sword aches... it wants me down there, now. But... patience. This is not the Wyld, girl. You cannot will away death here... ''
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| − | '''Messenger: ''' "It has been... a few hours now. A couple, I think..."
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| − | On the distance, a patch of night appears over the Red-Lantern District, and, closer to them, so close, a pale white aura rises... not quite like an Exalted's, but still...
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| − | "We were dispatched out as soon as the god called m'lord's hand. We knew he was going to fight, but not so soon..."
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| − | '''Child of Wyld Days: ''' "Heh! Nothing like an unexpected dagger to ruin well-made plans." She focuses on that strange darkness and equally odd light, even as she wraps an arm around the messenger and draws him close. "Hmmm... things seem to be escalating some."
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| − | She looks to Prism, perhaps for her thoughts, perhaps for a bit of guidance.
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| − | '''Relentless Prism:''' "Hmmm. That pale white light... that is a Holysword. They are the ruling elite here, my dear disciple. Remember when I told you of its Royal Family? They are of that blood... I thought none were on the Boil, though, it is usually beneath them... but, wait. I think the Captain of its Garrisson is one! She is probably going to join the Iron God... sounds familiar?" She smiles at the Snow Monkey, plans forming on her mind, a direct route to the rebellion....
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| − | '''Messenger: ''' "S-she is dangerous... yes. But she won't last long, I think... m'lord won't let her join the god. It would be too dangerous if those 'Gears' were together with the soldiers..." He shows a wide grin to the Child, his face red with desire, not thinking straight... and getting closer to her instinctuously, a face almost begging...
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| − | '''Child of Wyld Days: ''' "That indeed does. And now I think we have our direction. Or, at the least, a place to start in stirring matters up." The Child simply smirks, visions of battle dancing in her head. "But we should move quickly before there's no battle left for us, hm? I'd hate to have come all this way for these poor shaped people to steal away our chance to enjoy ourselves!" She does notice the state of her companion, and chuckles softly, a sound that could well be the call of Heaven to the poor enraptured messenger.
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| − | "But whatever will I do with you... " ''... aside from supping at your soul? Had I more time, I would enjoy you. A pity, really... ''
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| − | '''Messenger: ''' "W... whatever you desire..." He smiles, full of hope...
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| − | '''Relentless Prism: ''' And her teacher chuckles softly, watching the Child tease her find.
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| − | ''Oh, those children of the cup... she reminds me of my lover. Amusing... ''
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| − | '''Child of Wyld Days: ''' "I'll keep that in mind." Days purrs those words out, the sound promising pleasure, and perhaps a bit more. "We should move, though, Teacher. As for you..." She turns back to the messenger, silken promises in her voice.
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| − | "Go. Find a place to be healthy and safe, and when this battle is over, I will find you and make you mine."
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| − | '''Messenger: ''' "I... I... Yes! Yes, I will!" Smiling in dreams, he begins walking down the walls, "I should be away, ah... I trust you will find me!"
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| − | '''Relentless Prism: ''' The Cataphract waits until the messenger is far enough down the wall, then chuckles.
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| − | "You don't ''really'' intend to go after him, do you?"
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| − | '''Child of Wyld Days: ''' "It has been far, far too long since I've had a mortal dream to taste. No point in wasting what's there..." She shrugs, then chuckles brightly, eyes glittering iwith delight. "Although I do plan to test his stamina first, as it were. You're welcome to help if you'd like!" Snow Monkey lets that sink in, wearing a most mischevious grin while her tail sways lazing behind her.
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| − | '''Relentless Prism: ''' "Hope you find him, then. But... that is not for me, sorry." She looks down at the city... "I lay with nobles, I lay with warriors... and that mortal is neither."
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| − | She unsehathes her blade then, looking down at the city... "Those with black cloaks are the enemy. The demons are the enemy. Any undead is ''certainly'' the enemy! And we have to get to that light. Now... we go!"
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| − | And with that, she jumps down at the Boil, running through the roofs towards the white light....
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| − | '''Child of Wyld Days: ''' "I suppose I could develop some better criteria for who shares my body with me... but then again, perhaps not." She allows herself a small, honest smile, and soon Owl and Serpent is in her hand, ready for war.
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| − | "The light... and all we have to do is slice our way through? Very well!" She is quickly at Prism's side, a soft hoot of exhiliration escaping her lips as she bounds from house to house.
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| − | '''Iria: ''' Her armor was stained with bruises of sooty black and splashes of vivid scarlet, the star-styled shoulder pad rent open and dangling from a single leather strap. There was a new notch in her sword, the golden blade nicked by the face-plate of a red-armored soldier. There was a gash upon her brow, leeking blood across her pale face, dying loose bangs crimson and gluing her eye closed.
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| − | But she was alive. Alive and gleaming angelic white in the nimbus of energy that floated around her. And the undead who had come to claim her ?
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| − | Their bones crunched beneath her feet and their blood pooled into shallow rivers that heralded her journey out the door of her office in the barracks hall.
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| − | It would take more than a few egotistical walking corpses to stop Captain Iria Luminati.
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| − | Her soldiers were engaged in the streets of the Garrison district, throwing their bodies into the tight passages between the main barracks and the logistical offices. Some were only half-clad, some fighting with little more than improvised clubs or bare fists. Iria's blood-stained face held it's look of cool professionalism as her irritation rose at the sight. She had trained them better than ''this. ''
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| − | The Captain moved behind their ranks and with cold precision and swift slaps with the flat of her blade began beating some order back into the garrison before they shamed her further. And before they got themselves killed
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| − | "You there! Back out of line and scavenge a blade off the dead! Sergeant Blackhammer, you ''will'' get your men in order this very moment before I personally execute you for incompetence, do I make myself clear? Soldier, a breast plate is not a weapon. Wear it or give it to someone who will."
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| − | * '''''"Yes, captain!" '''''<br><br>They say in unison, all at once covering for one another, lieutenants calling for their men, placing their gear right... people rush there, friends and family of those on duty in the Garrisson District, armed with whatever weapons, true or makeshift ones, were at hand...<br><br>Criminals also came, on both sides.... what was amazing. Some of the people of the Boil were fighting with the Black Cloaks. Iria recognized them, and different from those who were at their cause, they were an united front... but they were still just criminals. Experienced thugs are still thugs.
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| − | '''Iria: ''' What had been little more than a mob was beginning to form up into proper battle lines. Officers and sergeants who had simply been hurling themselves into the fray pulled back and started to issue commands again. The wounded and unarmored were being plucked out of rank and moved to the back. The sudden swell of civilian support was unexpected and nearly made up for the enraging sight of locals taking up arms to help the dead. Criminals. Faces she had longed to see strung up out in the Field, leered at her through the shifting ranks.
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| − | She had been promised their full support. Of course, she had also been promised the rebellion would not begin for some time.
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| − | She should have known better than to have trusted a god anyway.
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| − | Half of her command group was unaccounted for. Gregor and Marcos had apparently made a stand alone against the force besieging their district, and fallen there as well. She had allowed herself to feel pang of loss when a wounded private reported that to her. Gregor and Marcos had been good boys and distant family, soldiers she could trust and count on. It was not how she would have wanted to see either die.
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| − | But tears could come later. The dead and the wounded were piling up on the ground behind her soldiers and Iria herself had to physically impose herself into the gap several times to stop the lines from breaking.
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| − | And they never stopped coming. No matter how many of the black cloaks they cut down, how many of the shambling dead they crushed, no matter how much blood flowed through the street; the dead never faltered.
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| − | Breathing hard, but keeping her face impassive, she pulled out of the line yet to make way for another cluster of re-equipped troopers, civilians brandishing kitchen knives or ancient blades, and walking wounded as they surged forward. Iria scanned the lines carefully. With this much pressure upon them, it was clear what was going on. Whoever was commanding the undead forces was looking to eliminate them first. At the moment, her troops were likely holding up the bulk of the undead army. Good for the city, bad for them.
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| − | "Officers to me!" She shouted, physically reaching out to pull the nearest away from the battle long enough to address them. "We can't hold here." Iria told them plainly, wasting no words. Shouts rose up all around them as the undead made another sudden thrust. "We need to make a move and break out of this area. ''Now''. Gather your men and prepare to pull them back and make a fighting retreat. Organize the civilians as best you can, but try to keep them towards the front. We're likely to have more opposition on our flanks and rear than anyone trying to stop us from moving. Take Cadders Way until it joins to the main street and fall back to the Industrial District. Iron Tears is likely to be there" her voice lowered and cooled, the look in her pale eyes burning with rhime. "I have a few questions I'd like to ask him. You have your orders. See to them"
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| − | *And they do.<br><br>They form a collumn, they begin to stop all those trying to stop the troops, they protect the civilians.<br><br>As one, the forces under Iria Lumanti act as a dragon, claws to the sides, scales all around, protecting the heart within. And flying towards the Industrial District...<br><br>But those criminals, they kept coming. Barr's men, barbarian slaves... it sure looked like all the crime on the Boil was actually on the Undead's side. So much for the Crow...<br><br>Every turn, they fought the enemies, every turn, they won.<br><br>But then, Iria saw... something. Something she had outlawed on the Boil long ago.<br><br>Something that feels like an insult to her word that it so much as shows in the open, much less with such abandon. The Bone Weapons... those that mark one as an agent of Barr's enforcer, Minos.<br><br>They come from both sides on a street, the problems with moving urban warfare. And for the first time her troops face something on their level... not demons they could pile on, but people just as disciplined.
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| − | '''Iria: ''' ''Minos. ''
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| − | That explained the dichotomy in the underworlds reaction, why one half was killing the other half. And if Minos had sided with the dead, it could only have meant his master had too. It was enough to almost make Iria smirk.
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| − | Seemed the Crow's pet bully had grown uncontent being the lap dog of the relationship.
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| − | It was not a situation to sneer at though. She'd dueled often enough with Minos's little man servants to know they were vicious enough to make up for any lack of military training. Even if the bastards weren't holding up their flanks, she couldn't afford to leave them alive to haunt them later.
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| − | What remained of her command group had been assembled around her as they marched. Her personal doctor, her banner barer, two unassigned cadet captains, and her runner. Gregor and Marcos should have been there too, an honor guard at her elbow, and a battle hymnist at her back, but they were likely all dead by this point. Her husband, Guise, was somewhere among the civilian ranks, beating the street gangs and other criminals into some semblance of order. Her right arm felt cold without his steady presence near it, but he was best off there at the moment. A former robber-knight knew how to lead criminals.
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| − | The Captain snatched the arm of her runner and spun the boy around. "Find my officers and and my husband and tell them to hold formation here. They are to shift the civilians to reinforce the flanks and the rear until the current attacking force is dealt with. Do you understand?" she waited until the nodded before she let him go and sent him dashing through the ranks to relay her orders. Throwing her blood-stained hair back over her shoulder, she looked back at the others, waiting nervous but patient at hand. Tapping the flat of her blade against her hip, she looked them over. A rail thin doctor nervously twisting a pike. A fresh faced young girl almost sagging under the weight of the enormous flag in her hands. And a pair greenhorns who'd never seen a battle any worse than a bar brawl. It was not the sort of force she would have liked to back her up, but you worked with what you had. "The rest of you come with me. It's time to dispense some justice."
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| − | * "Yes, Captain!"<br><br>They said in unison, readying their weapons,<br><br>"What are we to do?"
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| − | '''Iria: ''' "Watch my back. Don't get in the way." Iria paused gave them a faint, chill smile. "Don't die."
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| − | Sweeping her gaze across the assembled lines of troops, she picked out a particularly violent knot in the skirmish, a bulge forming in the line of soldiers where the criminal enforcers were hitting them particularly hard. Minos was there. She could feel it in her bones. The little prick had gotten away from her once, back when the city was even more corrupt and his master Barr practically owned the Patrol. He'd have no officials in his pocket to keep him safe this time though. He was hers.
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| − | Nodding her head, she raised her sword towards the faltering section of the line. "March."
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| − | She moved. They followed. And pressing herself into the line of faltering soldiers, she inspired. The Holyswords were of a special blood and so was she. Luminescence poured from her flesh, dissolving the broken armor encasing her, washing the blood from her face. Flesh became something else, lines less distinct in the light she gave off, but form held enough to reveal the perfect shape of her body, feminine and curved where it had been all hardened armored angles before, the absolute beauty of her face still coolly serene, and the flowing strands of her hair waving out behind her in watery rivers of light. Gilded wings of ivory stretched forth from her back, a pair of amber eyes opening upon their crest. Had they any doubts before, the sad mortal men and women who served Minos knew what they faced.
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| − | She was an angel of battle, of victory, and of death. Her pale silver light engulfed the soldiers around her, infused them, making armor gleam under the layers of mud and dirt. The golden blade in her hands was a scythe reaping through the bodies of the enforcers before her. Blades of bone and mortal flesh cleaved apart. Masked enforces wept in awe even as they tried to strike. And the faltering line began to straighten as Iria, now more god than mortal herself, lead them forward.
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| − | '''Criminals: ''' They stop, for a moment.<br><br>First time for all to see the Captain like this...<br><br>It gives them pause.<br><br>Heaven is against them...<br><br>But at least, hell is with them. And when choosing to serve Minos, they did decide to have their respect in the shadows. Among them, a Lion of Jade materialized, roaring at the Angel's presence. And they gripped their bone weapons, jumping at the Captain...
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| − | '''Child of Wyld Days: ''' The air is suddenly split with a loud, crystal-clear cry... almost an animalistic howl of rapture, and a form of white and gold launches itself into the sky, momentarilly hidden by the glaring sun. And then... it lands, on feet and one hand more-or-less near the beleagured soldiers, a curious staff held in its free hand. This thing, this... Child of Wyld Days, held her position, even as four roiling, prismatic spheres of wyld Essence burst free from her head... sternum... stomach... groin. As the spheres orbit her frame, she rises fully with the grin of a bloodthirsty warrior, eyes gleaning and tail whipping furiously.
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| − | "... greetings from beyond." The corner of her lips quirk up in a twisted little sneer.
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| − | '''Relentless Prism: ''' The woman falls gracefully, as close to Iria as she can come and not upset the soldiers, her gossamer dress shining on Iria's light, her silverly hair glinting in prismatic colors with the light... an ice-crystal-hued blade pointed at the criminals. Unlike the Snow Monkey, she looks human, but a human of great grace and surpassing beauty.... "M'lady a Holysword, I see. We have come to aid on your fight against the undead, if you will have us."
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| − | '''Iria: ''' Ghost-steam hisses angrily from Iria's flesh as the Lion appears. She is as much monument as she is person now, the polar opposite side of the jade creatures coin. Their proximity alone makes cracks split through it's hardened flesh, their duel animosity crackling through the air as her pale aura thrashed against it's own unseen influence.
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| − | The amber eyes upon her wings open wide, discolored inhumane pupils dilating into throbbing pinpricks of golden light. Iria rose from the ground, ivory wings stretching out behind her. Runic characters ignite along the feathers of her wings, the scrawling words of heaven, words that need not be read to be understood. A passing of judgment. A condemnation of those who stand before her. The star-like shimmer within the eyes pulses outward into an inferno. Twin swords of golden flame lash outwards, slicing through the bodies of the enforcers leaping towards her. Their dark forms silhouetted in the torrent for an instant before being washed away, and leaving the Lion alone on the street as her soldiers pressed forward.
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| − | Wings retracting, Iria slowly dropped to the ground and willed herself not to tremble as the weight of her body fell on her again. That had not been easy.
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| − | The sudden appearance of the two women was a welcome excuse to pull back from the fray a moment. Catching her breath, she looks them over with a hardened eye. Whoever they were, wherever they had come from, they were not human. And that unsettled her. There were too many inhuman things around today and too many of them wanted her dead.
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| − | But there wasn't time to make anything more than a passing judgment on them. They had not simply attacked from behind when they had the chance, so they could at least be trusted for the moment. The Captain speaks to the fae-women, her voice distorted and ringing with metallic echoes. "Then take your place in line and try not to get in my soldiers way."
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| − | '''Child of Wyld Days: ''' "Mmmm... Teacher, she seems to not mind. Let us dance, then... I'm certain the Boil will adore our performance!" The Child stands ready and waiting, Owl and Serpent high and her senses opened to the realities of the shaped world around her.
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| − | ''Essence flows in, through, out. It is a never-ending current, be it Wyld or Weave. It is only a matter of riding the proper lines and avoiding the others. That... is the path to glory! ''
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| − | Another hoot, and she crouches; ready, willing, able.
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| − | * And they fought. With glory. All the way to the Industrial District...
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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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